


Eyes Bright

by wardo_wedidit



Series: The 1975 [3]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, BRIT Awards, Birthday, F/F, Femslash, Long-Distance Relationship, Paparazzi, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>Harry's even made headlines with Nick, in the past.  Nick’s been out and proud ever since she got Breakfast and everything-but long before that, so people have always speculated on the nature of their relationship.  </i></p><p><i>It doesn’t help that she and Harry <i>love</i> to give them all something to talk about.</i>"</p><p> <br/>In which, after years of being almost-something, Nick and Harry try to figure out what they feel for each other and where the hell they go from here.  </p><p>Oh yeah, and they're both girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Bright

**Author's Note:**

> **PSA: THIS FIC IS NOT AT ALL CONNECTED TO ANY OF THE OTHERS IN THE "SERIES". they're more of a collection, only tied together because they all have lyrics/titles/elements that relate to the 1975. you DO NOT need to read the others to understand/read this one.**
> 
>  
> 
> This all started because I wanted to write a bit of Nick and Harry as girls inspired by the relationship of Cara Delevingne and Michelle Rodriguez, and now almost 22k later, here we are. 
> 
> [Here's](http://8tracks.com/wardowedidit/eyes-bright) a little mix in case you want to listen to some of the tunes I was inspired by/found their way into this fic. 
> 
> I'm very happy to have this fic finished--it has really been a labor of love in my life since _September_ , which is insane. 
> 
> Special shout out to Rachel for helping me out with this fic; you've gone above and beyond. :)

“Are these yours or mine?” Harry’s asking, leisurely as ever, holding up a pair of lace panties while Nick tries to re-hook her own bra without taking off her shirt. In the back of a limo. 

“Oh my god, _Harry_ it doesn’t bloody matter, just get them on!” Nick shrieks, and god, she can’t help it if she’s laughing hysterically. This whole night has been so absolutely ridiculous, and they're both incredibly drunk. Harry can’t stop grinning like the cat that got the cream, even as she slips the little thong on under her dress. 

_God,_ Nick should have worn a dress. That would have been smarter. 

It certainly made things easier for Nick that _Harry_ wore one. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the end, though. Harry seems to love to make Nick as dishevelled as possible, if the way she straddled Nick’s lap and slipped her hands underneath Nick’s shirt, into her bra so she could thumb at her nipples better was any indication, lips hungry on Nick’s own. 

Nick would like the record to show that she did _try_ to be sensible and leave it there, but honestly, what was she supposed to do when Harry had whined, “ _Niiiiiick,_ c’mon. I can get you off with _plenty_ of time to spare.”

Anyway, the point is, she didn’t say anything because she wasn’t able to form words. And then Harry was sliding down onto her knees, and unzipping Nick’s pants and tugging them right off and flinging them, and Nick’s brain felt like it was melting right out of her ears. 

“ _Just wanna be the girl you like,_ ” Harry had sung softly, smirking up at Nick before she hooked her thumbs in Nick’s panties and got them off too.

Nick is fairly certain that the _Fuuuuck, you already are,_ stayed inside her head. Well, maybe the first bit slipped out when Harry started eating her out fast and enthusiastic, but the important part stayed inside. 

And they probably would have been okay, if it had just been that, but the two of them have always had this _thing_ where they’re not very good at knowing when to stop. 

So, naturally, Nick had pulled Harry up into her lap again, run her nails up Harry’s bare thighs under her dress and rid her of her underwear so she could get her fingers on her clit. Before long, Harry was pushing into her hand, face hidden in Nick’s neck as she groaned and came, the soft fabric of the dress still brushing over her thighs with every movement.

In Nick’s book, dresses have big points for easy access. 

Also because now, they can’t find her trousers. 

“Why’d you have to _fling_ them?” Nick whines through her giggles as she leans down to feel around under the seat. She has no problem with Harry’s hatred of clothing in the bedroom, but it’s turning out to be quite inconvenient in a time crunch in the back of a limo. The car had started to slow down just after Harry’s orgasm, and it took them longer than it should to realise they were in the long line of procession to their destination. At that point, Nick started praying that all the cars in front of them were full of divas who wanted to make a grand entrance. 

“It’s not that big a space, they have to be here, right?" Harry asks, sounding absolutely baffled herself at where they could have gone, which only makes Nick laugh harder. 

Just then, the partition rolls down the tiniest, most discreet sliver Nick’s ever seen. She can’t even see out of it, but then they both hear, “Miss Styles?”

“Just a minute, please!” Harry calls back, sounding composed as ever, and then it rolls right back up. 

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ ," Nick curses as she struggles to get her shoes back on one-handed, the other pushing her hair out of her face. “Harry, _Harry_ , I don’t see them anywhere,” she moans, and then just like that, Harry catches her eyes and nods, determined. Honestly, they’d be in less of a mess if Nick didn’t find that so sexy. 

"Right."

Harry crawls forward, knocks on the partition window, and after a brief, hushed conversation through a very small slot, the partition opens wider and someone hands Harry a coat, and then it closes. 

"Fuck the pants, put this on," she declares, slipping the coat around Nick's shoulders, and Nick tugs it closed and then the door on their left is opening, and in a blur Nick is sliding across the seat and out. 

She keeps her head down and her hair in her face to shield against the glare of the paparazzi camera flashes, and it helps that there's one of Harry's bodyguards at her side, guiding her to the venue. However, it also makes it impossible for her to turn around, so she doesn't realise Harry's not behind her until they're fully inside. 

And, not going to lie, she feels a little vulnerable standing off to the side in a lobby, partially hidden behind a potted tree wearing nothing but her bra, top, high heels, and Harry Styles' underwear underneath a man's overcoat, next to a very tall security guard whose name is Tony, she's pretty sure, but not one-hundred percent positive. At the very least, no one else seems to have been interested in lingering in the lobby and didn't waste time getting to the after party downstairs, so it's just the two of them. 

"Um, thanks for the coat," Nick manages, just to make it less awkward, but Tony (Tommy?) just nods silently, eyes still scanning their surroundings. 

Nick's wracking her brain to come up with anything else to say besides, _Sorry, what's your name again?_ when the doors open and Harry scurries in, shuffling a bit on her heels while her bodyguard jogs slightly behind to try and keep up, Harry's grin wide and clutching--

Nick's white pants. 

Nick throws her head back and laughs, is still laughing when Harry grabs her hand and tugs her into the bathroom just behind them, into a stall and locks it tight before pressing Nick up against the door, finally smashing the pants between them as she kisses her, open-mouthed, both of them giggly until they're... well, not. 

"Sorry I'm late," Harry murmurs as she pulls away, hands still clutching Nick's sides. God, she can be so _smooth_ sometimes; it makes Nick a little lightheaded. She's so much more used to the dorky Harry, who takes a million years to tell a simple story that Nick's probably already heard and loves nothing more than a Lord of the Rings marathon on a Sunday and laughs at the most obvious puns and carries on full-on, one-sided conversations with Nick's _dog_. 

But Nick can keep up with the best of them. 

"Good thing you showed up when you did, popstar, I was considering charging into the party and just eloping with the first person to offer me trousers or a bin bag, whichever came first. See if I could get Henry to turn it into the must-have item of the season," she says, taking the pants out of Harry's hands and wiggling her way into them. 

Harry snorts in a way that is absolutely, unfairly adorable and steps back to give Nick some space to dress properly. "Looks like you really did have a plan."

"Course I did. Was just waiting the obligatory five minutes before I rode off into the sunset with Zac Efron, I heard he's here." 

Harry rolls her eyes fondly, pressing in again as soon as Nick's words have been punctuated by her zip, kissing her deep and slow so that when Nick opens her eyes again, she feels a bit disoriented. "Shut up about bloody Zac Efron," she mutters, face pouting just for show, and then unlocking the door and taking Nick's hand to lead her out. 

Nick follows, flushed and on the verge of giggly again. "Hey, what's your bodyguard's name?" 

Harry turns her head for a moment to look at Nick like she's lost it, and then replies swiftly, "Preston."

_Well, fuck that._

"Think Henry could really start a line of bin liner skirts?" Harry asks when they emerge, twining their fingers together like they've been having a perfectly civilized conversation this whole time instead of making out against the door of a bathroom stall. 

Nick shrugs. "Who knows, it's fashion week, love. Anything can happen."

Harry's eyes go all crinkly the way they do when Nick is being ridiculous and Harry finds it cute instead of off-putting, as is closer to Nick's dating norms. "I think it's a good idea," she says, pulling Nick slightly closer to her as they head down the stairs and into the fray. 

//

Everything in general seems like less of a good idea when they’re in bed the next day and Harry’s phone is going off like mad, and Nick just fumbles over and answers it because bloody hell, make the noise _stop._

“Harry?” asks the familiar voice of Harry’s publicist, already sounding cross. 

Nick rubs over her eyes. “Hi, Kathy. It’s Nick.”

Kathy groans. “And Harry is…?”

Nick turns over onto her other side to see Harry wearily blinking her eyes open, hair a long, curly mess across her pillow. She shakes her head in Nick’s general direction, frowny and pleading. Nick rolls her eyes fondly. 

“Asleep,” she says into the phone, and Harry grins, wicked, into the sheets. 

“Ugh, fine. Look, I can’t control what you two do and what you don’t, but you could really make my life a lot easier by _not_ getting each other off in the back of a limo? Or if you do, making sure not to exchange clothing items? It doesn’t exactly make my weekend relaxing, Nick.”

Nick bites her lip, unsure of what to say. On the one hand, she does feel bad for making Kathy handle all that, but on the other hand, she definitely doesn’t regret it. And it turns her on a little bit to know that anyone with a newspaper and a brain can work out what the two of them were doing in that cab. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Harry _must_ be able to at least hear part of the conversation, because she’s smoothing her palm over Nick’s naked stomach, looking up at her from under her lashes. It’s not an innocent touch. It’s a touch that _leads_ to things.

“I mean, it’s my job and I’m going to do but, like, I almost feel like I deserve a raise for this. Do you know how much work I do for Harry compared to the boys?”

“Uh huh,” Nick says a little bit breathless, because Harry’s rolled on top of her now, straddling Nick’s waist with her fingers trailing over her torso. Kathy keeps on talking, but Nick doesn’t catch a word.

This is not happening. Harry is not going to attempt to get Nick off while she’s on the phone. No fucking way. 

But it is, and Harry’s leaning down, kissing Nick’s neck and rolling her hips a little, and Nick can’t do anything but bite her lip as hard as she can to keep any sound from coming out. 

“Ugh, you’re not even listening,” Kathy says. “Whatever, just tell Harry to _call me_!” she yells, and Nick’s thrown the phone to the floor before she even says a proper goodbye, wrapping her arms around Harry’s back. 

“Fuck you,” she laughs, sliding her hands down to Harry’s bum, grinding their hips together just enough to make Harry gasp into her skin and then giggle, sitting up just enough to meet Nick’s gaze. 

“That’s what I’m angling for here,” Harry replies, all smirk, and Nick has to surge up and kiss her, rolling them over at the same time so that Harry’s underneath her, her hair still all messy and cheeks pink with sleep. 

Harry’s smiling like the sun, absolutely giddy with this turn of events, her hands gone straight to Nick’s bum and pressing down, urging her to rub off on her. _Fuck_ , Nick loves this. It’s one of her favourite things. So simple-sexy-dirty-wonderful, the two of them moving recklessly and panting against each other’s cheeks, rhythms becoming frantic the closer they get, Harry’s gasps right inside the shell of her ear. 

“ _Nick_ ,” Harry says in an absolutely ruined voice, already. She fumbles one hand up to tangle in Nick’s hair, using it to angle their faces together and kiss her, morning breath be damned, messy and dirty and uncoordinated but so bloody good. Like Harry is ever anything but. She sighs when they pull away, still moving, the sheets slipping down Nick’s back as she moves, the headboard hitting the wall a bit. “This, this okay?” she gasps, voice all high and needy. 

All Nick can do is groan. It’s ridiculous how close she is already; it fucking is and she knows it. Just--the fact that Harry was turning her on while getting a telling-off from her publicist gave her a head start, as well as the fact that this is her favourite--alright, _one_ of her favourite--kinds of sex with Harry. It’s desperate and needy and simple, pure friction, and sometimes it’s just what she needs. 

Harry tilts her leg just so, giving Nick something a little more solid to go on, scratching her fingernails down Nick’s back and then drawing one hand up to catch the side of Nick's face, guiding their lips together. It only lasts a moment before Nick’s rhythm speeds up, chasing the feeling curling in her gut, and she has to pull away to pant, whine against Harry’s cheek and she’s coming, hips pumping fast and sure. She ends on a cry, her whole body trembling with the force of it, breath coming fast and Harry shushes her gently, brushing Nick’s hair off her forehead and tucking it behind her ear, pupils blown wide. 

“Holy fuck,” Nick pants, soft with an edge of laughter to it, and Harry laughs too, an edge of tension in it, hand already heading between her legs. But Nick catches it before she can get there, licks her own two fingers quickly and eases them between Harry’s legs, finding her already wet.

“Nick,” Harry whimpers, throwing her head to the side as Nick moves her fingers fast over Harry’s clit, all pressure. Her hair is all spread out behind her on the pillow as she squeezes her eyes shut, and Nick can’t help but lean down and suck a mark into her collarbone, _just_ below where people would be able to see. Doesn’t matter though, not really the point. Nick’s _much_ more interested in the idea of Harry walking the red carpet or doing an interview and knowing that it’s there, thrilling secretly about it. 

_Look how fucking responsible that is, Kathy._

Then Harry’s locking her fingers behind Nick’s neck and pulling her up for a kiss that doesn’t last very long, becomes more of a desperate press of lips as Harry arches her head back and lets out something close to a sob, tilting her hips into Nick’s touch. God, she’s so fucking wet, her cunt twitching and jumping at Nick’s continued touch, moaning beautifully until she’s whining sharply with oversensitivity, drawing Nick’s hand away and pulling her down so they can collapse beside each other, sweaty and sated. 

When Harry finally opens her eyes and catches her breath, she snuggles into Nick’s side and kisses her, lazy and contented and warm. She pulls back with a smirk, absentmindedly flicking her ever-growing curly hair out of her face. “What do you think?” she asks, smug. “New record?”

Nick wants to laugh but can’t find the sound, brain too busy as her eyes dart all over Harry’s face, trying to take in all of her at once. It’s impossible, like looking into the sun. Still, she lets herself smile back, slow and controlled. 

“Better believe it, popstar.”

//

“What were you up to this weekend?” Finchy asks the next day, on-air no less. “In case people haven’t logged onto dailymail.co.uk yet.”

Nick narrows her eyes at him slightly, sticking her tongue out before answering. “Boring weekend, actually. Stayed in Friday, watched a film with my dog, and same thing Sunday, just laid around the house.”

“And Saturday?” Matt prompts, smirking, and Nick can barely keep the laughter out of her voice.

“Ohhhhh, _Saturday!_ ” Nick crows. “Well why didn’t you _say_ so, Matthew Fincham. Saturday, I… I did go out a little bit.”

“A little bit?” Fiona chirps up, also grinning. 

Nick is going to _murder_ her team later.

“Just a little bit. I went out with a friend of mine to a fashion show thing. Was quite fun.” She shrugs, daring her team to go further with her eyes. _Go ahead, Fincham. Ask me another question._

“Were you well behaved?” Ian asks, and Nick is truly caught off-guard, tries to stifle her scandalised giggle with little success. It sends her off into a bit of a laughing fit, and soon the whole team’s joined in and they’re just giggling madly on live national radio, so much so that it takes them a while to catch their breath. 

“There may or may not be a Showquizness question about cheeky pictures online,” Fincham says, which just sets Ian and Fiona off again and makes Nick blush madly. 

“Aaaaaand, it’s time for the news with Tina Daheley!”

In the end, it’s not that bad. The Showquizness caller totally calls her out on it and Nick pretends to be embarrassed but is really just a little self-satisfied because what can you do? She’s feeling good today. Besides, Justin Bieber did something stupid that might land him in jail and everyone’s much more focused on that, frankly, so they got lucky. 

Fiona acts shocked regardless, and Nick can’t tell how much of it is genuine and how much is just for the benefit of radio banter. It makes her blush either way, because Fiona shaking her head and alternating between speechlessness and muttering, “I can’t get over this,” (which never fails to make the whole studio laugh, sans Nick) is much harder to face than a caller in Essex who doesn’t _really_ believe that Nick Grimshaw and Harry Styles are sleeping together, at the end of the day. 

Nevertheless, she does get a text from Harry--who’s apparently listening, wherever the hell she is--that’s just two embarrassed monkey emojis and then just _Tell Matt Fincham my revenge will be sweet_ , because they both know she kind of likes the attention, really. When it’s familiar and pretty harmless like this. 

Nick, of course, texts back, _showbot has a mind of her own, babe!!!_ and then the nail painting emoji. 

Matt sends her a look and Nick rolls her eyes, thumbing the phone to silent and pushing it away from her.

//

It’s not like Harry’s never made headlines before. Far from it. 

She’s in one of the biggest musical acts in the world right now, not to mention she’s the only girl in the band. Then, of course, making waves again when she came out in one fell swoop, dating none other than Caroline Flack, 14 years her senior. And then _again_ when she started dating the - until then - straight, grown-up country darling Taylor Swift, who all of a sudden went pop and started singing about being wrapped up in bed together, waves crashing, flowers bursting into bloom, sharing clothes. Basically a full-blown sexual awakening in full view of the world.

The country music community was less than thrilled, especially when their relationship only lasted a couple of months.

And then there was Ken Jenner, a bombshell that got everyone asking whether Harry was in fact straight after all, and then Harry ended up basically having to explain bisexuality to an interviewer in _GQ_ which created all kinds of fuss.

She’s even made headlines with Nick, in the past. Nick’s been out and proud ever since she got Breakfast and everything-but long before that, so people have always speculated on the nature of their relationship. 

It doesn’t help that she and Harry _love_ to give them all something to talk about.

//

Nick honestly doesn’t understand how someone as cheeky and provocative as Harry can pull off these stunts every time without causing uproar. Everyone seems to think it’s adorable, are more than happy to reconcile the sexually adventurous side of her personality with her wholesome dorkiness and, just--Nick works in media, okay? And she can’t remember the last time someone walked that line so effortlessly and came out the other side so universally loved. 

Harry and her goddamn charm. 

Anyway, the Brit Awards are a textbook case.

They run into each other in the loo, which is innocent enough. In any other circumstances they would probably be able to control themselves, but today has sort of felt like one big build-up. 

Nick had gone over to Harry's earlier in the day because she'd already decided to wear skinny jeans, a shirt, and a jacket. For some reason she got it into her head that she needed a scarf, but then decided that absolutely everything she owned was horrific, shown up at Harry's door all frantic. 

Luckily, Harry's mum was there to calm her down and give her a cup of tea and a few biscuits. "I think Harry has a nice one up in her suitcase, alright love? Would look perfect with your jacket, let me just go run and get it..."

Nick hadn't even asked where Harry was, which. Well, that should probably make her a bad--friend? Fuckbuddy? God knows what they are, in Harry’s mother’s eyes. That was too much to think about right now, on top of the bloody Brits tonight, and the show right after tomorrow. It was all she could do to keep staring at her cup of tea blankly and not have a complete and total breakdown. 

Anne had nipped back down in no time, with Harry in tow. "Hey," she'd said all slow and lovely and wonderful, and Nick had wanted to melt right into the floor. 

Harry was dressed the way Nick usually did for these types of things, when she was in her comfort zone. That thought, however coincidental, made Nick's stomach flip flop all over the place. She was wearing a chic, on-trend black and white dress, aggressively and geometrically patterned, belted and with tiny little straps over her shoulders that Nick just wanted to slip right off her skin. It looked fucking fabulous on her--cutting off at the knees to reveal all that long, pale leg that ended in red kitten heels, for a pop of colour, and a long simple chain around her neck that stood out against her lovely collarbones and delicate swallow tattoos. Her hair was clearly unfinished, mostly piled on top of her head messily while the bottom layer was curled into gentle waves. The sight of her made Nick's mouth go a little dry. 

"Hi," Nick said in reply, after Anne had handed her the scarf and wrapped it just-so round her neck, then scurried away to the kitchen in the name of tea, but probably to give the two of them a little privacy. 

She was still walking towards Nick and then stopped, reaching up on her heels a little to press a quick kiss to Nick's cheek, her matte red lips sure to leave a mark. It was all Nick could do not to think about how she wanted those marks all over her body, especially in the most private of places, and how she wanted to leave her sticky pink nude lip gloss all over Harry's inner thighs in return. 

She refused to blush in front of Anne. 

"You look nice," Nick murmured, just for something to say, and Harry grinned. 

"Not done getting ready yet. Just wanted to come say hi before I missed you." Her eyes tracked all over Nick, assessing and apparently pleased, if the gentle curve of her mouth was anything to go by. She tugged slightly on the scarf so it lay asymmetrical, eyes flaring with a look of _there, finished_. "You look good in my clothes," she whispered, voice all tease, and Nick mostly focused on not swallowing her own tongue because she could finish the sentence on her own, the way Harry was looking at her. _Can't wait to take them off you later._

Nick chuckled lightly and tried not to act too jumpy. “Just your scarf, popstar. Thanks, though.” 

Harry had shrugged like she just wanted to get the line out--which, she probably did. “I’ll see you there, yeah?” she’d asked, and Nick nodded.

And now they’re in the toilets at the Brits, glancing at each other in their peripheral vision as they wash their hands at the sink, _just_ missing each other's gaze every time. Nick thinks maybe that’s intentional. 

Because there’s something about the way Harry looks like this. She looked beautiful before, of course, when Nick saw her at her house and watched as Harry tried to flirt up a storm in front of her own _mother_ and Nick had tried her very hardest not to get too turned on. But now it feels multiplied tenfold, because Harry always manages to soak up the screaming fans and the lights in a way that just makes her fucking _radiant_ , and Nick just wants to touch her. 

She doesn’t even know if either of them get a word out before they’re crashing into each other, impossible to tell who moved first. But they’re tumbling into a stall, the door of which Nick is pressing Harry up against and hearing her whimper in response. Nick swallows up the sound with her lips and tangles her fingers in Harry’s curls, desperate. 

“Please tell me you have, like. A hulking security guard standing outside that door,” Nick says as she rucks up the skirt of Harry’s dress around her waist, her fingers rubbing lightly over the lace of Harry’s panties. 

Harry laughs, wide and bright with her head thrown back so it thunks against the stall door. “I wish,” she sighs as she angles their lips together, breathing out, “Guess you’ll just have to be quick, Grimshaw,” right before they kiss.

Well, Nick will take that challenge.

She has Harry gasping soon, fingers moving in small tight circles on her clit, pressing it up against the bone. She has Harry's pretty painted nails clutching at her shoulders, her legs wrapped against Nick's waist. Harry is trying so, so hard to be quiet and just failing completely, little whimpers and cries escaping her lips as she squeezes her eyes shut. She goes breathless as she as she starts to come, the high points of her cheeks all flushed, head tilted back so that the long line of her neck is exposed. 

Nick feels wild, reckless--her own hair all over the place, soaking through her knickers even though there's absolutely no way they have time to get her off here. She angles up, bites so, so lightly at just under her ear, making Harry shudder and come just like that: muscles twitching, jumping, voice close to a sob. 

They both breathe for a moment after, Nick leaning forward to press her forehead to Harry's collarbone, sighing. Harry runs her fingernails softly through the hair at the base of Nick's scalp before moving to cradle Nick's face and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. It's a nice, intimate moment before Nick steps back, lets Harry slide down her body. 

They tidy each other up, easy and comfortable--a strap slipped back onto a shoulder here, hair arranged strategically there. Harry leans in and gives Nick one last long, luxurious kiss before pulling away, grinning. Nick smiles back, wordless and ushers them out. 

When they emerge, there's Liam's voice on the microphone and someone turns to Harry, says, "Hey, aren't you with them?"

Nick watches Harry turn to look at the stage and let out a high, slightly-panicked laugh, slipping her heels off her feet and into her hand and then she's _running_ , full speed ahead up to the podium with her dress billowing along as Nick makes her way back to her table. 

She sits down just as Harry gets the microphone, says, _sorry, sorry... what did we win?_ and Nick thinks randomly that at least no one will question Harry’s flush now. 

It makes her laugh hysterically, bubbling out of her throat and catching her off-guard, and then she's got her head in her hands and is trying to stifle it, probably looking like she's had a mental breakdown. 

"...Nick? _Nicole_." Ian says, trying for hesitant and then firm, a gentle questioning hand on her shoulder as Aimee says _oh god_ like she knows exactly what's happened. However, Ian still has not. "Finchy, Nick is pissed," Ian reports, and then Matt Fincham's turning to her. 

Nick can practically feel the eye roll in his voice. "Niiiiick. You okay hun?"

Someone on the microphone after One Direction makes a crack about Harry's late appearance and Nick loses it all over again, arms on the table, forehead on top of them, and then--" _Oh_ my god," Matt murmurs, the sound of his chair scooting closer, voice like he's just put two and two together and is upset it took him that long to figure out. "Did you have something to do with this?" he asks, low enough so only they can hear. Nick shakes her head vehemently back and forth, but she's still breathless from laughter and hiccuping a bit now, wiping at her eyes. 

Matt levels her with a completely unamused and unconvinced look, rolling his eyes again and just leaves her be. 

They at least manage to throw off suspicion by going to different afterparties, though Nick _does_ see an article on the Daily Mail website the next day speculating about the little red mark just underneath her earlobe you can see with a zoom lens, wondering if it's from the male model she was photographed next to at one of the many parties. 

Apparently paps shout questions at her about it as she leaves. There's a video online of it, but Nick doesn't watch--just stares at the thumbnail for a good two minutes while the newest Ellie Goulding record plays, thrilling at Harry's smug little smirk. 

//

Still, Nick can’t shake the feeling like they might have flown too close to the sun with the Brits. It’s one of those moments people talk about for a solid week afterwards-- _did you see the bit where Harry Styles almost missed her band’s award?_ And yeah, at the time it was _hilarious_ , but she was a bit drunk while it was happening, and in hindsight it makes her feel a little sick to her stomach. There’s a video on YouTube of Harry running onstage all grinning and at the same time frantic, and Nick has watched it a good handful of times, reeling at how lucky they truly got. 

So, for a complete turnaround, they very carefully orchestrate Paris to look like a coincidence. 

Nick’s line of defence is that she’s there for a few fashion week shows, and of course, Harry has a concert there. Nick talks about her Paris weekend on the show casually throughout the week--or at least, casual to everyone except Matt Fincham, who shoots her suspicious raised eyebrows every time she brings it up. 

Nick hates to say it, but Matt knows her far too well. 

She Instagrams herself riding on the back of a motorbike, grinning as she speeds past the Eiffel Tower. She tweets at the show, of course, trying her very hardest to look like it’s just a casual, cheeky weekend in Paris. Like she’s saying _No worries here, just assume I’ll be doing more of the same until Monday._

And then as soon as the show’s over, she meets up with a bodyguard who escorts her into a car with tinted windows, sunglasses on, head down, and then to a very fancy hotel. 

It’s all very covert and how fucked up is it that Nick’s kind of _thrilling_ with it, feeling like she’s got the wool over everyone’s eyes because she’s going to see Harry. _Harry_. And no one knows. 

Yeah, it means she’s basically going to be in a hotel room for the rest of the weekend, but it’s fucking worth it to see her in this long slog that’s One Direction’s worldwide stadium tour. It hasn’t even been long at all, but Nick misses her so fucking bad. Like a limb. 

That’s probably pathetic, she knows. But it’s true. 

Harry just has this way of wiggling her way into Nick’s whole life when she’s in London. She knows all Nick’s friends, lives in the same area, and seems perfectly content to spend her whole break just rotating around in their little circle. And Nick eats it up, trying to save up for the days when Harry’s in fucking LA or New York or Australia or what the fuck ever, thinking it’ll make the distance easier. 

It just never does. 

Some part of her always expects to get tired of Harry. Because she can do that, put a song or a person on repeat until she overloads--she never did have a very long attention span--but Harry’s always been the exception to that rule. 

Nick always wants more. 

So much more than she should. 

It’s not the best thing to be thinking about when she’s being escorted discreetly up to Harry’s hotel for a little rendezvous, and so it throws her a bit when she’s inside and Harry’s hands are on her face immediately, kissing her hot and hungry before Nick can even take off her sunglasses and shrug off her bag. Maybe that’s why it takes her a second longer to sink into it than it would usually. She’s too fucking keyed up, inside her head. 

Harry pulls back after a second, brow furrowed. “Hey,” she murmurs, thumbs stroking across Nick’s cheeks. “Y’alright?”

Nick plasters on a smile that she hopes looks unbothered. She doesn’t know if she manages it. “Yeah, Haz, m’alright.” She moves her hands up and down Harry’s arms for a second, quickly, like she’s trying to warm her up. She can’t take her eyes off Harry’s, for some reason, but it’s like--it’s helping. It’s making the knot in her stomach loosen a little. 

It feels like an eternity, watching Harry’s face relax muscle by muscle and grin wide. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” she says, moving her arms around to pull Nick into an embrace, burying her head in Nick’s neck, and Nick breathes deep. 

“Me too,” she whispers, feeling the truth of it in her gut. 

She knows she holds on too tight. She puts it out of her head.

//

Nick knew intellectually that they wouldn’t have much time together before Harry had to leave for the show, but she didn’t fully understand how _fast_ it would feel when it flew by. Still, she knows that every minute with Harry here is technically bonus time, since they made this happen by the skin of their teeth. 

And it’s nice. There aren’t any screaming crowds around and no one seems to know that Harry Styles is staying here, so they’re actually able to open the balcony doors a bit and let the breeze in, pull up some fancy chairs from the lounge area and sit in front of the gauzy curtains, looking out at the skyline with glasses of wine in their hands. Nick doesn’t know if that’s down to One Direction’s security or French apathy, but she appreciates it either way.

“It would be nice to like, go out, you know?” Harry says, slightly wistful and without making eye contact. “I bet I could get someone on security to swing it. Go to a little cafe. Somewhere discreet, and if we act natural enough I bet no one would even notice.”

Nick’s fingers pause where they were combing through Harry’s curls at the base of her neck. She _swears_ they started off in separate chairs, but at some point Harry crawled into her lap and Nick barely noticed the change. “Haz…”

“I know,” Harry sighs, cutting Nick off. “But, like. Maybe next time.”

Nick hums, sympathetic. For some reason it’s harder to see Harry like this--maybe because she works so hard to seem happy-go-lucky and unbothered by all the inconvenient shit most of the time, so conscious that the pros of this job far outweigh the cons. The perfect popstar attitude. Constantly grateful and gracious.

“Well, s’long as we’re making plans for next time, you should take me to the Eiffel Tower. Be proper romantic about it,” Nick says, teasing, trying to lighten the mood. “Saw it with my motorbike driver today, but somehow he resisted the cartoon hearts in my eyes.”

Harry turns to look at her and grins, eyes going all crinkly as she inches closer. “Did he?” Nick nods. “Didn’t know what he was missing out on, then.”

“Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to say, _'Surely not, Nicole, your beauty and charm are truly irresistible?'_ ”

Harry throws her head back in a full-bodied laugh for a moment before leaning back in to kiss Nick, soft and sweet and still smiling. There’s not enough time for it to go anywhere, but it’s nice to just be able to rest her hands on Harry’s lower back and sink into it, take their time. She can taste the wine on Harry’s tongue and it makes her feel lazy, warm. Less like they’re trapped in this room and more like this is all they need.

//

Harry comes back from the show exhausted, which Nick expected. Part of her even thought that Harry might just come back and collapse, but somehow she rallies. They order room service food at midnight and they order _a ton_ of it, spread it all out on the bed like something out of a film, feasting on burgers with fries and a steak and fancy pasta and chocolate cake and more. Harry is ravenous and bright-eyed, curling into Nick’s side as they sit up against the headboard and flip through the TV until they can find Friends, and then spend fifteen minutes struggling to turn on the subtitles even though Harry could probably quote Friends from memory. She laughs loud and genuine at every joke, no matter how many times she’s heard them before, and stuffs french fries into Nick’s mouth during the adverts. 

After a couple hours their eyelids are drooping and the hotel room is dark, both of them leaning their heads on each other as the light from the telly flickers over them. Harry yawns, stretching out. “Can we go to bed, please?” she asks primly, and Nick nods, pulling herself out of the sheets to go and brush her teeth. 

She flips the lightswitch up on the way, making quick work of it all. She’s been in her pyjamas ever since Harry left, so that’s no issue. She just wants to get back into bed as quickly as possible. 

However, Harry takes her time in the slow, ambling, slightly lovely way she always does. Nick listens to her run the water, brush her teeth, turn some lights on and others off. Harry re-emerges in a pair of old, cosy-looking boxers and a threadbare tshirt, hair piled up on her head in a bun as she sits down at the vanity at the other end of the room, the mirror perfectly in Nick's line of sight from where she's propped up in bed. 

She reaches for the bottle of Bioderma that’s standing against the mirror, putting some on her fingers and then massaging it into her face, making her makeup go all messy. She’s told Nick that Lou tends to get bored just doing touch-ups on the lads, so she lets Lou experiment a little on her face. Nick’s seen them, too--at premieres and events and parties, Harry rolling in with bright, coloured liner or vibrant purple lipstick or a _lot_ of glitter, something else cutting-edge and new because Lou felt like playing around. 

Nick’s loved them all, if she’s honest. She’ll take Harry’s face any way it comes. 

But tonight it’s just some simple brown eyeshadow on the outer parts of her lids, the thinnest line of black eyeliner Nick’s ever seen, heaps of mascara and a dark red lip. It’s very classic, very Paris. 

It occurs to Nick then that _everyone_ sees Harry like that. The thousands of fans are all going to remember today as the day they saw One Direction live and in the flesh, and that look is how they’re going to remember Harry. And they’re going to count themselves lucky. 

And Nick, Nick gets this whole _other_ side. She gets Harry’s hair piled up in a messy, convenient bun to stay out of her face, her skin a little bit pink from cotton pads and makeup remover and the pressure of her fingers as she slathers on moisturiser, dabs on eye cream. Nick watches it all a little bit in awe, because it’s such a _private_ thing, watching someone take their makeup off. Watching them take off the face they present to the whole wide world and strip down into comfort. 

“Hey,” Nick says softly across the sheets, stupidly shy as Harry works lotion into her hands. Harry turns away from the vanity with slightly raised eyebrows and frozen in her movements, like she’s waiting for Nick to continue, and then her face softens. Nick doesn’t know what Harry’s seeing but she feels a bit exposed, even though she’s the one who’s just watched Harry move through her nighttime routine. 

She watches Harry smile, real and tender and indulgent, watches her crawl towards Nick on the bed and settle herself in Nick’s lap, holding her face in both hands so that Nick can look up at her. Nick’s hands are settled comfortable and tight on the small of Harry’s back, gentle and possessive all at once. She feels like her eyes are darting everywhere all at once, desperate to memorize every single feature of Harry’s face in this moment even though she knows it’s a stupid, impossible task. She swallows hard against the inexplicable lump in her throat and wills her lashes not to flutter shut at the way Harry’s thumbs caress her cheekbones. 

“Hey,” Harry murmurs back, gentle as anything, just before she leans in and presses the most careful kiss to Nick’s lips. 

//

And that’s how Nick ends up on her back, wearing a strap-on that Harry is lifting herself up-down-up-down on slow enough to drive Nick mad. Nick’s thrusting her hips up into it every time, begging Harry to go faster, but she just smirks at the movements, so it’s all Nick can do to just look up at her in something like awe. 

Nick knew Harry had done this--with Caroline, because even if the two of them have always been strictly just friends, Nick’s always known way more about Caroline’s sexual history than she expected to. It doesn’t take much to get her talking about it--a couple of vodka tonics and Caroline’s blushing and pretending to embarrassed as she tells you about the latest vibe she got, all, _Babe, I swear to God, you have to get one. I have never come so fucking hard by myself in my entire life. Christ, used at least three towels cleaning that mess up!_

Anyway, Caroline’s pretty open about it, and Harry had been young(er), dating an older woman, and up for anything. She and Nick have talked about it, always in a vague, passing-by sort of way as the conversation shifted to something else. Nick doesn’t really retain a lot of it, because she can only listen to stories of Harry fucking other people for so long before she has to pull her in and kiss her, all messy and desperate, letting her mouth bite _mineminemine_ all over Harry’s skin. It’s a bit unfair and she knows it, and honestly, she doesn’t have a problem with Harry fucking other people. It’s not that. It’s just that--they get to spend so little time together that when they do, Nick doesn’t want to think about anyone else. 

So basically, all Nick remembers is that Harry and Caroline had used a variety of toys and she’d been new to all of it but always really liked it, enough so that she taught all the tricks to Taylor when they were together. (Nick now knows that one of the biggest female pop stars in the world came five times in one go-round when Harry used a vibe on her, which is. God. So fucking strange.) She also remembers that Harry really, _really_ likes to get fucked, and a perfect audio memory of Harry saying it is forever tucked into Nick’s brain, never too far from her mind.

But this is her first time seeing it up close, and god, it’s so much. Harry’s more flushed than Nick’s ever seen her, one hand in her hair with her head tipped back, voice breaking apart as she speeds up, and jesus, Nick hadn’t even thought about her _voice_. 

Like it wasn’t enough having Kathy on her back, now Helene’s going to hate her too, for making Harry all hoarse tomorrow. 

She moves before she even realises she’s doing it, pushing herself up on her elbows so that she can wrap her arms around Harry’s waist, pulling her in closer, helping her work up and down. She sucks on Harry’s nipples, one after the other, with Harry’s hands resting steady on the back of her neck. She waits until Nick’s done, catching Harry’s nipple between her teeth and pulling slightly before she lets go, then tipping her head up for a kiss. 

//

Harry's wide awake in the morning as Nick packs up and gets ready to go, still naked and lounging in bed as Nick rushes around and wonders how she managed to scatter all of her stuff throughout the hotel room in such a short amount of time. 

"You should come back to bed," Harry whines, lying on her side as she watches Nick try to zip her suitcase closed with little success. "Niiiiiick, we still have time!" 

Nick laughs, abandoning the stupid luggage for a moment to try and locate her purse, impatiently running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. "We really don't, Haz. I have to be at the airport in 45 minutes."

Harry's pout is practically professional, and Nick's always been soft for her, can't deny the way it tugs on her heart a bit. "Then let me change your ticket," Harry says, sitting up now, grabbing Nick's hand as she rushes by. Nick rolls her eyes and allows herself to be pulled down into sitting across from Harry. She can see the determination on her face now, the way Harry's gone from silly to serious in seconds. No matter how many times it happens, she’s never ready for it. "Stay a couple more days with me, Nick."

It's almost too much to look her in the eye, the way she's so set on what she wants. It's intoxicating--contagious, if Nick lets it be. So she looks down, fiddling with Harry's fingers as she tries to keep her voice light. "You know I can't, Haz. I have a job I quite like, remember?"

Harry's lower lip juts out as her brow furrows. "I know," Harry mutters, sounding actually disappointed in a way that almost surprises Nick. It always takes her aback, the way things with Harry can go from silly and teasing to heady and intense in no time at all. "I just--I wish you could. It's not the same when you're gone."

"Not the same performing every night to thousands of people who adore you?" Nick chuckles, and Harry makes a face. 

"Not that," she allows, lying back again. Nick runs her hand lightly over Harry's stomach through the thin sheet, like a compromise. Not touching her exactly, but not detached. 

"I don't like--missing you," Harry manages, eyes set on Nick's, and Nick nearly goes breathless. "I miss having you, you know?" She swallows hard. 

Nick doesn't remember the last time she left Harry, doesn't really remember if she ever has. She's always the one being left, always the one trying to be cool, to hide how much it hurts to watch someone leave. Nick doesn't think she's ever admitted as much about it as Harry's just done. It always felt like--too much for them. They have always lived on deadlines and ETAs and short stretches of time, and to tell someone you miss them, well. That's one thing. They do it all the time. Nick can almost convince herself it's just their own personal version of normal, that it doesn't affect her anymore. 

To tell someone things aren't the same with them gone is quite another. _Having_ you, Harry had said, and Nick knows she’s probably reading too much into it but she can’t help it. She always feels like she’s giving herself away, to Harry. 

“I miss you too,” Nick admits, trying to tamp down on the tornado of emotion that’s going on inside of her at the moment and swallowing hard. “I miss having you too.” 

Harry reaches up for the collar of Nick’s thin, worn t-shirt, wrinkling the fabric in her grasp to pull her down close and kiss her hard, needy. Nick wonders if she makes it this hard for Harry when she leaves. If she makes her choked with feeling, torn inside, like she just wants to turn the clock back and do it all over again just to put off this part a little bit longer. Nick tries to slow her down with her lips, her hands, but nothing seems to work and by the time she’s pulling away she can barely breathe, unsure if it’s from the kiss or from the heaviness of this. 

She extracts herself after a minute, finishes throwing her stuff together in silence. Harry sits up on the bed with her arms wound around her knees. There doesn’t seem to be anything else worth saying, when they both know Harry’s going to be on tour for the rest of the spring and into the summer. Missing each other is as far as this can go, when they can’t do anything else about it. 

“Bye,” Nick finally murmurs, kissing her forehead when she’s done, eyes stinging at the way Harry squeezes her wrist. 

She has to head for the door and not look back, otherwise she just knows she’ll just crumble, her carefully constructed, determined face will melt away and she’ll be back in bed with Harry against her better judgement, hiding under the covers like a child instead of the adult she is. Well, that she’s trying to be.

 

//

Nick’s birthday just happens to be over her summer break, and she’s turning fucking thirty. _Thirty_. 

So she’s having the blowout of a lifetime. 

It starts in London, and it feels like everyone in the world is invited--all her friends and her family and pop stars and like, proper celebrities. Bloody Alan Carr is there chatting to Nick’s mum in the corner, and everyone’s drunk, and Aimee and Annie are spinning the decks like crazy, and people are congratulating Florence on her performance over and over, and there’s a fucking _swimming pool_ in the middle of it all. 

Harry’s not there, obviously--but Nick’s alright. There’s so much going on that she manages not to think about it much. She’s dancing and everyone is showering her with hugs and kisses and presents and it’s _more_ than alright; Nick feels like her cheeks are hurting from smiling so much and laughing so hard, feeling so loved. 

“Happy birthday, love!” Daisy screams in her ear at one point, when it’s just the two of them looking out on the craziness. 

“Thank you, Daize!” Nick yells back, leaning close and pressing a sloppy kiss to Daisy’s cheek. Daisy’s arms tighten around her waist and she sighs, drunk and happy.

“Thirty can’t be so bad with everyone who loves you in the world here,” she chirps, and just like that, Nick feels a twinge in her gut. 

Because, _fuck_. When you put it like that. When you put it like that, she really fucking wishes that Harry was here. Because, just. Everything’s better when Harry’s here, isn’t it? That’s what it’s like, when you--

 _Fuck_.

It’s not even like that. She knows for a fact that Harry’s sleeping with other people, for Christ’s sake. Well, not for a _fact_ , because it’s not something they discuss in detail, but like. The papers put it all out there, and Nick can put two and two together well enough. And she’s not even mad about it, because anything else at this moment in time would be absolutely impractical, and Harry is who she is and--

Nick is so drunk. She is so, so drunk and so obviously selfish and undeserving of this life, because just looking around she knows she has so much to be grateful for, holy shit. Why is she standing heer agonising over the one thing she _doesn’t_ have? She refuses to be that person. That’s not who she is. She’s the person who makes a family out of her friends, and here is one of them standing right here being nothing short of wonderful.

So she halts the thoughts in her head and looks down into Daisy’s open, guileless face and smiles.

“Yeah, I think it’s going to be the best year yet. Bound to, with a kick off like this.”

Daisy grins at her like she said the right thing, and Nick grins back, and means it.

//

She breezes into Ibiza still feeling a little bit hungover, sunglasses over her eyes and hair wild all over the place. She unlocks the door to her room and dumps her bags by the door, making a beeline to the bed only to see the sheets all rumpled, a lump in the duvet, and finds herself standing stock-still there for a moment as she pushes her sunglasses up into her hair. 

“‘Lo?” the lump says, and Nick feels a bit like Harry must sometimes, with the way a grin spreads unbidden over her face, pitching forward into the sheets and shifting them around until she sees Harry’s face. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized white t-shirt and her underwear, her hair all over the place and her face fuzzy with sleep, eyes bright. “Surprise,” she croaks, turning a little bit to face Nick.

“Hiya, love,” is all she can say. She feels like she’s jumping inside, absolutely ecstatic, but trying not to be as insane as she feels about it so it’s all she can do to just smile so wide it hurts. She feels weirdly speechless--she had no idea Harry would be here, was going to try her best to enjoy the full 24 hours she had alone before everyone--Mairead, Collette, Emily, Jamie, Aimee, Alexa, Ian--all showed up, but to be honest it was looking boring even on the plane. 

“Miss me?” Harry murmurs, winding her hands up to pull Nick in closer by the lapels on her leather jacket, tipping their faces together. Nick’s breath catches in her throat as their noses brush and she can’t say _yes_ before their lips are pressing together. Harry’s lips are soft as ever, and Nick can’t help the way she opens her mouth into it, letting Harry’s tongue slip inside. After her little drunken epiphany at her party, this feels like nothing short of a goddamn miracle and she almost can’t believe it. Too good to be true. But fuck it, she just turned _thirty_ , she can have this for a second. 

The kiss is warm and comfortable and slow, one of Harry’s hands cupping her face, other slipping around her waist to pull her closer. “Fuck,” she groans when she pulls away, all flushed. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” 

It comes out a bit of a whine, fingers scrabbling at Nick’s jacket, working it off her shoulders and plucking her sunglasses out of her hair, tossing them both to the floor even as Nick squawks, entirely unmeant and half a giggle. In just a minute Harry’s got her divested of everything but her bra and underwear and is pulling her under the covers. She wraps Nick’s arms around her middle, winding them together from chests to toes so Harry is the little spoon and sighs. 

Nick presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s shoulder, soft, settling in between the sheets. “How long are you here for?” Nick asks, quiet, eyes starting to flutter shut already. 

Harry hums, eyes blinking heavily and voice still croaky from sleep. “Three days. Everyone’s coming, like. After I leave.”

Nick’s eyebrows furrow. “How’d you manage that, popstar?”

She can hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “Texted Aimee, she arranged everything. Said to call it part two of your birthday present.” She wiggles her bum a bit so that it’s flush against Nick’s hips. 

Three days is _such_ a short amount of time, but it’s so much more than she thought she would get. God, Nick can’t even imagine the strings and favours Harry had to pull out to somehow wrangle them three days off in the middle of their worldwide stadium tour. 

“Jetlagged?” Nick murmurs, just as Harry yawns, nods. She nuzzles farther into the pillow and Nick smiles, thumb skimming over the soft skin of Harry’s stomach. “Go to sleep, Hazza,” she says as her own eyes flutter closed.

//

Nick wakes up a couple hours later to Harry gently shaking her and whispering her name, all soft by the edge of the bed. Nick groans and twists away but eventually relents. 

When she opens her eyes, she’s met with Harry in a loose, jeweled black bikini top, long curls tumbling down her back and sunglasses pushed into her hair. She has a light, boho cardigan thrown over it, wide sleeves fallen down to her elbows as she brushes the hair back off Nick’s forehead and a long, flowy patterned skirt over her bikini bottoms. “Heyyyyy,” she purrs as Nick takes her in, all wide smile and nonexistent tan lines, toned stomach. “Let’s go out on the beach, yeah?”

It’s late afternoon, the Ibiza sun still streaming in through the windows. God, Nick smells and feels like aeroplane but Harry smells like sunblock and looks so fucking delicious, it’s all she can do to just nod and drag herself out of bed. 

Before long they’re out on the beach, belongings abandoned up on the sand as they stand knee-deep in the water. Harry keeps splashing Nick, wicked smile on her face and lighting up her eyes as Nick crows about it good-naturedly, wiping the saltwater out of her own eyes and gasping for breath from giggling. 

Also left on the beach is Harry’s bikini top, because it’s _that_ kind of beach and she’s whining about working on her popstar tan. Which, Nick can’t help but note, is a lot to take in and she’s having a bit of a time dealing with it. God, when _isn’t_ Harry half-naked; how is it possible that Nick still has this much trouble with it? Luckily, she can tell from the way Harry’s eyes go darker every single time Nick laughs that she’s not the only one having trouble exhibiting self-control. 

Nick herself is a little bit self-conscious in her white halter-top bikini. She’s not nearly as tan as Harry because she’s been _working_ all summer (or at least it feels like), and she’s never had the subtle definition to her stomach and hips that Harry does, more long and angular, sharp instead. Her legs look good though, as per usual. 

She’s stuck on it a little bit in that moment, but then Harry’s grabbing her hand and pulling, swimming them further out into the water with nothing but a “C’mon!” Nick rolls her eyes fondly and follows. 

Harry stops when the water is lapping against their shoulders, pulling Nick in close. She sees the dark, heady flash of Harry’s eyes, and then Harry’s kissing her before she can even say anything. It’s hot and breathless and demanding and Nick goes from confused to easy and pliant in less than a second, sinking into it. She sighs contentedly as Harry tangles their tongues together, hands urgent on the sides of Nick’s face. 

It’s good, _God,_ it’s so fucking good. The sway of the waves keeps changing their heights--one second Harry’s taller than her and then the next, a wave comes in and they’re eye-to-eye, or Nick’s taller just like normal. It seems like a silly thing to notice when Harry’s kissing her desperate and deep, but just. It’s nice. Nick likes the way she can tip her chin up when Harry’s taller, pant between them and whine a little needily into Harry’s mouth, a bit like she’s asking for permission. Harry must think it’s pretty hot as well, judging by the way she growls into the kiss, sliding her fingers back to tangle in Nick’s hair, pulling at the tie of Nick’s bikini at the nape of her neck as she goes. 

Nick barely notices she’s gotten it off until Harry’s thumbs are caressing her nipples, too distracted by Harry’s mouth (and god, not for the first time). Still, the sensation is slow and slick in the water and _new_ , and just so fucking good. Nick is shuddering into it and then she _realises_ , pulling away with a gasp and grabbing the floating bikini top next to her. 

“Oh my god, Haz! Were you just gonna let that float away? How were we gonna get back to the beach?” she asks, slightly hysterical as she tries to fumble it back on, angling a kick at Harry’s feet under the water, but Harry’s lips just curl up impishly as she dodges it. 

There had been paps earlier when they got there, but Nick hasn’t seen hide nor hair of them for at least an hour. They must have got bored watching the two of them lay out on the beach on their towels, motionless with their sunglasses on, soaking up in the sun mostly silently, the only real sign of anything interesting their loosely intertwined hands. If she had to guess she wouldn’t say that they came back, or that they’ll be there when the two of them emerge, but still--better safe than sorry. She tries to limit both the number and intensity of her conversations with Kathy. 

Shamelessly, the glint in Harry’s eyes does not abate and she shrugs like she doesn’t give a single fuck. Nick squawks a little indignantly. 

“Holy shit, Styles, this is a designer suit, babe.”

Harry rolls her eyes, so goddamn fond, wrapping one arm around Nick’s waist and using the other to tilt her chin up, their lips inches apart. It comes out more as breath than actual word when she says, “Don’t worry, I can afford to buy you another,” and kisses her, leaving no room for protest. 

It’s so fucking cliched but Nick can’t even help the way she absolutely _trembles_ in Harry’s arms, kissing back so eagerly. She wraps her legs around Harry’s waist and hoists herself up a bit, whimpering as Harry cups her breasts, panting, and lets Nick twine her arms around her neck. 

If Nick loses track of her top after that, no one could blame her. 

She doesn’t know how long they’re actually out there, but soon they’ve drifted neck-deep  
and Nick must have fully lost it at some point, because she’s walking her fingers slowly down Harry’s stomach, sliding her hand into Harry’s bottoms. Harry jumps a little bit, eyes sliding shut and abs jumping, and Nick groans, hides her face in Harry’s neck. 

Harry shaved for this, _fuck_. It feels different than normal, a little alien simply because it’s not what she was expecting. But god, it’s still really, really good as Nick slides her fingers inside Harry, hooking them just right. Harry gasps, her own fingers tightening on Nick’s waist, nails digging into her skin just enough to make Nick let out a short, frantic moan, angling her head to bite quickly at Harry’s shoulder in revenge. 

Harry yelps, laughs for a second, and then shudders, Nick’s fingers moving in rhythmic, consistent circles that make Harry whine. Nick’s hand is sandwiched between Harry’s skin and her own thigh so Harry can get some leverage, rolling her hips into Nick’s touch. She whimpers, nose nuzzling into Nick’s cheek until Nick turns her head and kisses her. It’s greedy--all tongue and depth and movement and Nick moves her fingers faster, feeling inexplicably desperate for Harry to come, all of a sudden. She pulls away and Harry’s head lolls against her shoulder, breathing erratic, and Nick can see she’s trying to keep her face relatively composed so no one can tell what they’re doing, and _fuck_. 

“Come for me, babe,” Nick whispers, and Harry shakes her head, whimpers again, resisting. Nick can feel her tensing her muscles inside, like she’s trying to stave it off. “Come on, love. Let go. For me.”

And just like that, Harry throws her arms around Nick’s neck and cries out, cunt twitching and jumping as she comes with her cheek pressed to Nick’s own, breath hot against the side of her face. Nick can feel the blood under Harry’s skin, warm where they touch, and her own stomach drops with the force of it, the way Harry is so fucking perfect when she comes. 

Harry tries to catch her breath, arm around Nick’s waist and hand in her hair like the contact is the only thing keeping her from floating away. She swallows hard and pulls back a little, looking at Nick’s like she’s the greatest thing as she laughs, cheeks pink from a mixture of sun and embarrassment at the semi-public nature of what just happened. Nick knows that laugh, knows it means _I can’t believe we just did that_ and it’s one of her favourites, the way Harry never makes it sound like a bad thing. 

“Fuck, baby,” Harry says right before she kisses Nick, long and hard, and Nick can feel herself colour now, at the endearment. They say _babe_ and _babes_ the most, occasionally _love_ or _pet_ , but hardly ever _baby_. It feels so… so official, like they’re proper girlfriends, and maybe that’s why Nick loves it so much, feels herself go hot and liquid whenever Harry uses it. 

Nick hums into the kiss in agreement before they both pull away. Nick tries to put a bit of distance between them, to prevent further indiscretion, but Harry won’t have it, tightening her arm around Nick’s waist and pulling her in another couple centimetres closer. She’s still breathless, eyes searching over Nick’s face as she says, “You, do you want…?”

Nick shakes her head quickly, firm. Her voice is quiet when she answers, as quiet as she can be over the sounds of the water. “Don’t think I could, out here.” Harry may be completely uninhibited and at ease when it comes to her body, to sex, but Nick’s not the same. She’s still not over the fact that she’s _topless_ right now, to be quite honest, despite the fact that no one can see anything but the tops of her shoulders as far out as they are--so having an orgasm where any stranger could squint toward the horizon and watch her come seems like a bit much. 

Harry pouts, because she’s a child, and then when Nick rolls her eyes Harry laughs. “Are you sure? Swear I don’t want to like, make a habit of this. Getting off in public and then not reciprocating,” she says, chewing on her lip, and then Nick flushes even more when she remembers, right, the bloody Brits. 

“Nah,” she sighs, mouth quirking up a little at Harry’s eager-to-please face. God, she’s got that look on her that says she just wants to make Nick come, watch her, like that’s something ridiculously hot in itself and it’s a lot to be the recipient of that expression from Harry Styles. She doesn’t know how to handle it. She takes a deep breath and then continues. 

“Want you to take me to bed, Haz.”

She watches Harry’s eyes go dark and wide again, feels Harry slide her hands down Nick’s torso to squeeze her bum as she says, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” leaning in to kiss Nick again, wet and dirty. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nick says when they pull away, suddenly remembering. “Fuck. How are we gonna get back?”

Harry grins, slow enough that Nick can see just what she’s thinking. “ _No,_ bloody hell, Styles. I am not running up the beach just so the Daily fucking Mail can post a video of my tits, thank you very much.”

Of course Harry frowns in response, on principle, but Nick can see it’s entirely unmeant. “Why not, Grimmy,” she whines. “It’d get me through the rest of tour.” She wiggles her eyebrows, absolutely shameless, laughing a little when Nick gives her a disapproving look and then looking around, shrugging. “Don’t worry, there’s no one even here.”

“Famous last words every celebrity has said just before some idiot gets something compromising on their phone,” Nick mutters, and then, eyes lighting up, “Why don’t you just run and grab me a towel then, if you’re so bloody comfortable with it. You and your exhibitionist tendencies.”

Harry’s eyes glint at the challenge, smirking now, and then she’s untangling herself from Nick to swim back to shore. “Suit yourself,” she calls over her shoulder, and then she’s off. 

While Harry deals with that, Nick swims closer to shore, ends up sitting in the shallow water with her arms crossed over her chest protectively. Harry edges closer, holding a towel in front of her and a smug look. "You _do_ need to actually get out of the water for this to work, you know," she says, and Nick sticks her tongue out at her childishly for a moment before rushing out of the water and grabbing the towel quickly, wrapping it around herself and running, shrieking, back to their stuff as Harry laughs hysterically, jogging along behind her. 

Nick throws herself upon the sand, getting it in her hair and all over her wet skin but not really caring, still trying to arrange herself so she's best covered. She's definitely regretting the loss of her bikini top now. Some dolphin's probably wearing it as a hat, starting a fashion trend among all the other dolphins. 

The next second, Harry's throwing herself on top of Nick, all hungry hands and giggles, and absolutely _no_ inclination to cover herself. Nick protests weakly through her own laughter, pushing Harry off and not meaning it in the slightest. Then Harry's kissing her, lazy tongue and roaming hands, and Nick's about to close her eyes into it when she sees a flash out of the corner of her eye. 

"Shit," she says, low, untangling them through Harry's whines. "Haz, there are paps."

Harry straightens up immediately. "What?" She's still speaking slow as ever, but Nick can tell she's a little panicked, something in her face going blank. 

" _Fuck_ , do you think they've been here this whole time?" she asks. She can hear the wobble in her own voice and abruptly feels like crying. She and Harry have done a lot of shit in the public eye, okay, but nothing ever like this. Nothing this... blatant. It's one thing to have a twenty year old popstar cheekily pal around with a DJ ten years her senior, but it's another for there to be hard, photographic evidence that they're most likely sleeping together when they’re not even proper _dating_. Jesus, Kathy's going to be sending out office-wide memos calling for Nick’s head on a spike. There will probably be a cash prize for the winning intern.

"Hey," Harry says, soft, easing an arm around Nick's shoulders. She fumbles behind them, somehow magically pulling a big white t-shirt from her big bag and handing it to Nick. "Babe, you're shaking. Put this on."

Nick wipes at her eyes quickly before pulling it over her head. Harry manages to get her bikini top back on and throws her cardigan over it, wrapping Nick in a sideways hug, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Breathe, Grim. Then we'll get out of here, okay?" she murmurs, speaking all soft like you do to a child who just had a meltdown, when they're still half-sobbing between shuddery breaths. 

God, Nick feels so stupid. She should be the one protecting Harry--she's thirty, for Christ's sake--and yet Harry's the one taking care of her about it, and she just feels so helpless. 

She forces herself to take a deep breath and pull together, gathering their stuff and pulling on her flip flops, game face on. "Okay, let's go," she says, trying to sound more in control than she really is. Harry just nods, a little glum, and follows behind. 

//

“Nick,” Harry says as she steps out of the shower, towel around her as she runs another one through her messy curls. The tops of her shoulders are a little bit pink from the sun, but still no tanlines. Fucking magic. 

_Or just no bikini tops,_ Nick considers. 

“Nick, c’mon. Nothing will even go up for at least a few hours. That’s how it always goes.”

The problem is, Nick can’t stop staring at her phone on the bed like it’s a bomb about to go off any second now. Like Kathy’s just going to call at the drop of a hat and scream at her until she cries. Nick’s an easy crier. Kathy’s probably the type that can sniff that out in people. 

Harry sighs and darts into her purse for a second before hopping onto the bed, legs folded underneath her, her phone in one hand. She reaches forward with the other and takes Nick’s in her own, twining their fingers together. “Okay, Nick? Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna turn the phones off until I leave, alright?”

Nick looks up at her. Harry looks a little bit pleading, a little bit worried like the fact that Nick hasn’t really said more than three words since they left the beach concerns her for some reason. 

Shit, Nick’s being an asshole, isn’t she? She blinks, swallowing hard and nodding, taking in Harry’s enormous, relieved grin as Nick picks up her phone. Harry counts to three, and they turn them off, and then Harry throws them on the bedside table and pulls Nick into her, kissing her soft and gentle. 

“It’s gonna be fine, yeah?” she murmurs, and Nick takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, feeling less like she wishes the ground would swallow her up and more like she wishes Harry would just cuddle her forever. Which _is_ an improvement, she supposes. She nuzzles her way into Harry’s neck, breathes deep. She smells like the fancy shampoo the hotel provided and like the vanilla scented body gel she brings everywhere because it reminds her of home, and somehow still like a heady mix of sun and ocean even though they’re both clean. 

Nick loves her. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking it since her party, and even more since Harry showed up in her bed, a complete and total surprise. All Nick’s been able to think was how much _better_ everything would be now, that Harry was here with her. 

“Sorry for, like. Going all weird,” Nick mumbles into Harry’s skin, cheeks heating reflexively as she listens to a low chuckle rumble out of her chest. 

“It’s fine, love,” Harry says, angling to kiss the top of Nick’s head. “Just--I’m here, you know? We can figure this stuff out together.” Her next words are a little softer, like she’s a bit embarrassed to say them. “Wanna take care of you.”

And that's just--fuck. Harry's _twenty_ , she should want to be wild and experiment and try lots of crazy things and see the world and sleep around. But God, she's here for a secret getaway for Nick's thirtieth birthday and she wants to take care of her, and that's so, so much to process and Nick can't--

She tilts her head up and kisses her, because what the hell else is she supposed to do, and Harry's kiss tastes a little bit like adrenaline but mostly like relief, like comfort, like need. She wraps her arms around Nick's neck, drawing it out, and Nick tangles her fingers in Harry's curls and tips them so Harry bounces a bit as her back hits the mattress, the towel she’d haphazardly wrapped around herself gently unraveling, falling to the side. 

They kiss for ages until it's long and drawn-out and hot, and Harry's fumbling off Nick's big bulky sweatshirt that she always throws on when she's feeling shitty. She's not even wearing a bra underneath and Harry groans, moving to suck at Nick's nipples just to make her tremble. 

"Fuck," she gasps wetly as she works Nick's underwear off, hands shaking a bit--frantic, eager. "You're wearing more clothes than me, why are you _always_ wearing more clothes than me--"

Nick cuts her off with a laugh, head thrown back. "Not bloody hard, is it, when you're naked half the time--"

Harry chuckles softly, all fondness. “Shut up, come here,” voice gone all breathless, wiggling around on the bed a little bit. “Owe you one, don’t I?”

And it’s like a switch flipped inside Nick, because suddenly all the she wants is Harry to make her come, damn the rest. Damn the paps and the tabloids and the publicists and the death threats sure to come on Twitter--in this moment she has Harry. Harry, who can take her mind off the hard stuff and make her laugh when she feels like crying and who always makes her feel so, _so_ fucking good. 

“What’d you have in mind?” she asks, lightly running her fingers over Harry’s stomach. Harry groans and arches into it, the simplest of touches, like Nick’s done something really amazing. 

“ _Fuck_ , Nick, want you to sit on my face,” she says immediately, half a gasp, and Nick can feel her own pupils widen just like that. 

“You do?” she says, attempting to tease for a minute even though her voice has gone all low and it’s giving everything away. Nick reaches up, runs her thumb over the seam of Harry’s full pink lips. “Always loved using your mouth, haven’t you Hazza.”

Harry just nods, more openly desperate for it than Nick at this point, fingernails biting into Nick’s upper arms. “Please,” she asks brokenly, breath hitching like _she’s_ the one they’re about to get off. “Nick, please.”

So Nick does, maneuvers herself so she’s hovering over Harry’s mouth, her front facing Harry’s legs, her legs drawn up and feet flat on the bed. Harry twines her arms around Nick’s thighs, tugging her down a bit and dives in. 

She doesn’t start off slow at all, nuzzling herself right in and sucking long, wet, loud kisses over Nick’s clit before she starts really working her tongue in deep, steady pulses that make Nick’s thighs quiver where they’re bracketing Harry’s head. Nick never knows what to do with her hands in these situations, when everything in her is fuzzy with sensation. She settles for running her thumbs over Harry’s nipples for a minute before squeezing her tits once or twice--enough to make Harry jump a bit underneath her and let out a muffled moan into Nick’s cunt. 

God, Harry is so fucking-- _enthusiastic_ , that’s the only word for it, with her tongue. It makes her think of one of the first times they’d hung out just the two of them, before they’d started sleeping together, when Harry had tagged along with Nick to this shitty DJ gig and immediately ordered a vodka soda from the bar. Nick expected her to mingle and dance, but she’d just skipped back up to the DJ booth and giggled into her drink all night, biting the straw as she smiled, wide and flirty. Nick had said something like, _better watch out, popstar, someone will catch your eye and get the wrong idea_ and Harry had looked her straight in the eye, all false innocence as she said, _oh, you think they’ll know about my oral fixation?_

Nick had been stunned into silence while Harry laughed madly, to say the least. 

She’s gotten a lot better with her mouth since then, and Nick likes to claim at least _some_ of the credit for that even though Harry’s slept with more people in the last year than Nick has in her whole life, probably. 

Not that Harry needs to know that. 

And fuck, she’s not afraid to get messy either. When Nick looks down between her legs Harry’s chin is all wet, pink tongue peeking out every once in awhile from her plush, pink, thoroughly used lips, and the sight is almost too much for Nick to take. She starts moving, riding Harry’s face, hips working--and the added element just gets her that much closer. She can feel the heat, the twinge of her orgasm hovering, not far off, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Nick runs her hands down Harry’s body--breast, stomach, thighs, knees--until she can reach up and grip the headboard, leaning forward into it for some sort of anchor. She can vaguely hear the sounds coming out of her mouth, knows they’re ridiculous… cries and moans and gasps that she can’t control, even if she was inclined to try. Harry’s just too goddamn good. 

She forces her eyes open and sees Harry touching herself, two fingers working in light, slow circles over her own clit like this whole experience is getting her off but she doesn’t want to come yet, and Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking _hot_. Nick moves her hips faster, whines louder, grips the headboard tighter and comes, babbling. No real words trip off her lips, only a mix of bitten-off expletives and desperate, agonised sounds. 

Harry’s touching herself with more purpose now, and as soon as Nick’s caught her breath she leans down, impatiently shoving Harry’s hand out of the way as she draws Harry’s hips under her hands, licks luxuriously over her clit, wet and swollen and so fucking ready for it. 

Harry groans, still working away with her tongue, the vibrations doing amazing things for Nick as she makes it quick and dirty--sucking fast and purposeful at Harry’s clit while she licks rhythmically with her tongue. She feels Harry’s hands smooth up her back, then back down, and Nick feels only a bit like a twat that _that’s_ the bit which makes her shiver. Harry’s working her hips, thrusting into Nick’s mouth as Nick bounces her own ass, all of it building building building: the wet noises of mouths and tongues and the bedframe against the wall and the animal sounds spilling from their lips until Harry comes, and Nick comes _again_ , both of them twitching and oversensitive so that Nick has to quickly (fumblingly) roll off of Harry, breathing heavily. 

They’re both toes-to-heads for a minute until Harry exhales, “How’d I do?”

A laugh bubbles out of Nick as she rolls over so she can look at Harry better, eyes over one shoulder. “You’re just looking for an ego boost, mate.”

Harry laughs, full and bright and so _her_ , god. Corners of her eyes crinkling and body shaking with the force of it. “Heyyyy,” she whines, grabbing on Nick’s ankles and tugging. 

Nick gets the message, shifting around so they’re face-to-face. Harry pouts, all tease. “Am not, _Nicole_ ,” she persists, just to make Nick scrunch her nose up and roll her eyes all fond. 

Nick leans in and kisses the unmeant frown off her lips just for a second, pulling back with her eyes just barely open to murmur “You know bloody well how you did, Haz,” before Harry closes the space between them again. 

//

They get dinner and cocktails on Harry’s last night in an upscale restaurant that’s practically right on the beach. It’s discreet too, and no one blinks an eye when Harry gives her name for their reservation. She’d managed to book them a private table outside around a fire pit, which both guards them from the wind and obscures them from view. Nick’s never been more grateful for Harry’s ability to charm the pants off complete strangers. 

It’s pretty picturesque, frankly. The sun is setting gorgeously behind them, and there’s a gentle breeze that’s blowing Harry’s curls everywhere where she’s sitting across from Nick. They’re both sunkissed, and Nick can feel the pink on her shoulders even under her jean jacket, the sand in her toes underneath her long lace skirt. Harry somehow managed to get in wearing a loud, patterned crop top under a leather jacket, which. Nick slightly loves and hates her ability to pull off the most ridiculous clothes in equal measure. 

Not to even mention that everything is delicious--Harry’s eating a grilled salmon which was delivered to her on a very fancy wood block, and Nick’s trying not to be completely disgusting with the rate she’s scarfing down this prawn pasta. Nick’s drinking an Amaretto Sour (not _just_ because it’s pretty), and Harry’s got a Long Island Iced Tea because she’s obviously a child.

They chat easy and eat and take in the view, and it’s so nice that Nick can almost forget that Harry’s leaving tomorrow. It settles into the pit of her stomach like lead all of a sudden, looking at Harry’s face as she talks about how much she just _loves_ the beach. She obviously means Ibiza, but some bitter, shrivelled up, horrible part of Nick’s brain hisses _LA_. She hates herself a little bit for it.

It must show on her face because Harry gets the concerned look between her brows. “Grim?” she asks, reaching out just enough for the pads of her fingers to touch the back of her hand on the table slightly, gentle. Nick looks up and sees it there, all earnest and caring and something in her stomach churns. 

This is so much deeper than she ever meant to get, she thinks wildly. There must have been a point where she didn’t feel physically ill every time Harry left her. 

She can’t remember when that last was. 

“You with me?” Harry asks, and Nick tries to table the tornado of thought swirling inside her, swallows hard and nods, plasters on a smile that’s sure to look fake. 

“Always,” she replies, and _fuck_ , ain’t that the truth.

Harry looks dissatisfied, like she can tell Nick’s hiding something. She bites her lip and pulls back, breaking Nick’s gaze and turning her attention to twisting her napkin in her lap. 

“I spoke to Kathy about… everything,” she murmurs. “They’re gonna put some plans together and let me know.” 

Awkwardness hangs in the air and all Nick can think is god, don’t bloody bring it up. This is the last thing she wants to talk about in the entire universe. She can feel the peace she’d felt at the beginning of the meal when everything was perfect start to slip away, and finds her head shaking before she even realises she’s doing it. She balls her hands up into fists and then unclenches them immediately, stretching them taut, trying to keep them from shaking. 

“I’ll give you a call when I know what they’re thinking,” Harry offers, and Nick nods in a way that looks more like a frantic jerk of the head. 

Harry’s eyes lock with her own again, and god, they’re so fucking pitiful. It should be illegal to make Harry look so sad and hurt. Nick didn’t even do it on purpose, for Christ’s sakes, her own brain just went and ran away from her with spite and Harry caught on, because she’s always been able to read Nick way too well for her own good. 

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Nick blurts, words coming out possibly before she’s even thought them. 

Something like surprise flickers momentarily across Harry’s face, but it’s smoothed out into a kind of relief so quickly Nick wonders if she’d imagined it. 

“Me too,” she replies, and then, mouth twisting, “‘M sorry I missed your birthday party.”

It’s the first time she’s said it, and Nick can’t say she was expecting it at all. She even feels herself gasp the tiniest bit at the words. Harry’d sent a text on the day, sure, sending her best wishes and whatever, and Nick appreciated it, but she had absolutely no idea Harry was as torn up about it as she’s looking now. She looks regretful, and guilty, and christ, it’s just Nick’s fucking birthday party. Sure, it was amazing and she had a great time, and there was a brief moment there where Nick missed her so much it felt like a hole in her chest, but mostly there were _so_ many people there Nick could barely breathe. In a good way, but still. 

If given the choice, she’d much rather have this. 

Harry all to herself on a beach in Ibiza with the sunset at her back. A cosy hotel room with a pretty goddamn amazing bed, and sheets they haven’t made up since they got here. Just breezing in and finding Harry _there_ in the first place was so amazing, all sleepy and tactile and happy. 

All these little intimate moments no one else has really seen, that can’t be taken away with the shutter of a long-nose lens. 

“Don’t be,” Nick shakes her head, wrinkles her nose. “This is more than enough.” She hopes it sounds sincere enough to communicate what she really means.

Something like a hesitant, relaxed happiness blooms over Harry’s features. She reaches out, grabs Nick’s hand fully this time, and brings it up to her lips to kiss Nick’s knuckles. Nick mostly focuses on not going even redder than she already is. 

//

They fuck slow and close the last night, after dinner, Harry rubbing off on Nick’s thigh, their bodies pressed together in one long line. Harry’s holding Nick’s face in both hands, trembling and letting out shaking, gasping, quiet breaths, like she doesn’t want to break the moment. They hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights when they got in, so the room is a shadowy, evening blue and the sheets are tangled around their ankles, shameless. The windows are open and the breeze skims over them, leaving goosebumps over Harry’s skin that Nick tries to smooth out with her palms. Harry kisses her like it’s the end of the world, a bit, and Nick swallows hard against the lump in her throat. They take their time, and when Harry finally comes with a whimper that sounds like a bitten-off version of Nick’s name, Nick has to rub her hands over her eyes because they’re stinging. 

Harry slinks down her body and eats her out determinedly, eyes fixed on Nick the whole time and it’s too much--Nick has to stop looking at her so she can breathe, squeezing her eyes shut. She comes with a drawn-out groan, the sound you make when something’s about to break, before Harry crawls back up and kisses her silent, and they fall asleep all wrapped together. 

It’s early morning, shady dawn when Nick feels a kiss on her shoulder, soft and tentative. “‘ve gotta go,” Harry murmurs into her skin, tugging the sheet over the skin she’d just touched. “Nick.”

Nick forces her eyes open to see Harry fully dressed, bag on her shoulder, and fuck, she’d forgotten, after Paris. How shitty it feels to be on this end. It’s the familiar kind of shitty, which almost makes it worse. The kind where it’s mixed with disappointment, because you thought you’d be better than this, this time. That you’d outgrown this desperate, raw part of yourself.

Harry’s eyes are bloodshot and Nick hopes she puts on sunglasses and doesn’t get papped at the airport, by some miracle. 

There are words, probably, she just doesn’t have them. 

Instead she fists her hand in Harry’s t-shirt and pulls her down into a slow, gentle kiss, sinks into it for just a minute before she pulls back, chest somewhat less tight now to see a little more softness in Harry’s eyes. 

She leaves just like that, closing the door behind her. 

Nick rolls over in bed and forces her brain to stop running, making herself go back to sleep.

//

Nick’s been a big believer in distraction, since she got back. 

The rest of the holiday was alright, with other people around her to keep her busy and keep the pressure off. If she had to have a little bit of a teary, fragile afternoon with Aimee recovering when she and Ian first got there, well, no one else knows about it and it was so brief that Nick can almost pretend it didn’t happen. 

But now she’s back to _real life_ , and she can’t fucking get over Ibiza. She can’t get over Harry showing up and how fucking amazing it had felt to have her there, even for such a short time, and how surprised Nick had been. She almost wishes she had expected it--like somehow that would make it mean less, make it less special, and she wouldn’t be so tied up in it now. 

It meant a whole lot to her, if she’s honest. She thinks maybe that’s why she lost herself in it so much. 

She wishes it didn’t feel so _good_ , because it’s not real. 

At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. _Get over it, Nicole, Harry’s god-knows-where on tour at the moment and you’re back in London doing a job that you love and the two of you aren’t_ that _, you’re not anything permanent. You have no right to be this torn-up about it._

So she invites Daisy over, the Saturday after she gets back. It’s felt like an eternal week, and Aimee would say that’s because Nick’s beating herself up about it every chance she gets, but Nick disagrees. She just needs a little pampering--Daisy can cook for her, they can drink some wine, have some dessert that Daisy’s probably smuggled some spinach or zucchini or kale or something into, and sleep for entirely too long. It’ll make her feel more like herself, she’s sure. 

Daisy’s teasing her about her complete and utter inability to do anything in the kitchen but burn herself, after an ill-advised attempt to help Daisy sautee some vegetables when her phone rings. Nick’s sucking on her thumb and still whining a bit about it, so she’s a little occupied and doesn’t see the name when she picks up and her voice comes out a muffled “Hwowooh.”

“Nick?”

And her stomach drops. _Of course_ Nick’s stomach drops, because it’s Harry. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, dodging the look Daisy shoots her at her nervous, shaky tone of voice and heading to the bathroom for a little privacy. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, because she’s a considerate little shit even when Nick’s trying her best to forget about her. Forget about what an amazing time they had, how right it felt to have her there, forget that this call where she’d have to deal with all the shit that comes with them being fucking obvious idiots was bound to come. 

“Fine, just a bit of a kitchen mishap. How are you?” she asks, closing the door behind her, locking it, and then leaning up against it. 

“‘M alright,” Harry sighs, sounding utterly exhausted. 

“What time is it, where you are?”

Harry lets out a sound that should be a laugh but is much more bitter. “Who fucking knows, anymore. Jetlag. Time zones. The odds are stacked against me.”

Nick hums, sympathetic. “You should get some sleep, Haz. Don’t let those screaming crowds wear you out so much.” She’s going for levity but doesn’t quite make it, falling just south of casual in a way that makes her wince. 

“I will, after this,” Harry says, and Nick thinks she can hear the whoosh of Harry’s back hitting the mattress, can picture her unruly curls spread out on the mattress underneath her. “I talked to PR.”

Nick’s heart does something like a swan dive into her stomach. “Oh. Um. How’d that go?” 

“It was long, but they were thorough. Gave us some options.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, before taking a deep breath like she’s steeling herself. “I’m already out as bisexual and you’re out as gay, so that’s not really a problem, but the pictures look…”

Nick holds her breath. She’s not playing whatever fill-in-the-blank game Harry wants her to. Her hands are shaking and she doesn’t have time for this. 

“Intimate,” Harry finally finishes.

“Oh.” Nick exhales, more thankful than ever that Aimee wouldn’t let her look at them once Harry left. Then she sort of forgot about it, if she’s honest, but it’s still better that way. She doesn’t want to see herself looking like a lovestruck, stupid idiot, starry-eyed on a beach with Harry Styles for the whole world to judge. 

“So, the problem here is that people are either gonna think badly of you if we don’t say anything, or say we’re just casual, because you’re older and people will think you’re taking advantage. Or they’ll think I’m a slag. Maybe it was something else bloody stupid, I dunno if I got it right. None of it made any sense, but that’s what they told me.”

“Uh-huh,” Nick manages, because while Harry sounds like there’s a volcano slowly rising to a boil inside her, Nick’s quite used to those comments. Especially when Harry first came out, insinuations about her long-time friendship with Nick and how it must have _turned_ Harry somehow. Fucking insulting and offensive, as usual, but she’s gotten the rage out and accepted it as a fact of life a bit, now. She can deal with that. 

“ _Or_ , we could come out. Like. As a couple.” Harry says haltingly, and Nick swears her heart skips a beat. She honestly can’t say she thought this would be an option. 

“Everyone sort of recommended… that. Apparently it’d look good for the band’s image if I have a steady girlfriend, and we can say that we’ve been dating for a while and that will take the heat off both of us,” Harry explains, all in a rush. 

“Yeah,” Nick replies blandly, because what the fuck else can she say? 

“What do you think?”

Nick’s been pacing the little tiny bathroom and she hasn’t even realised it. She makes herself stop, sinking into a sitting position with her back against the wall, take a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she admits. “What do _you_ think, Harry?”

“I, um. Was thinking the second one,” she says, broken and in pieces like it’s hard for her and Nick’s heartbeat picks right up. In the nervous, uncertain way. She’s not fucking emotionally prepared for this.

“It’s not like we haven’t been, you know. Seeing each other for while.” _Fucking_ , Nick’s brain translates, unhelpfully. “And I want to be, um. Exclusive. With you.” There’s a pause that Nick fills with a million racing thoughts--is it because Harry doesn’t really believe what she’s saying, or because she’s just doing what she thinks will be best for the band, or--“ _God,_ I didn’t want it to happen like this. I wanted to tell you when we were _together_ , in the same place, and when it didn’t look like I was backed into a corner to say it.” 

Nick huffs a laugh that feels hollow. She just doesn’t know what to _do_ , or say, or how to take this. It all feels slightly unreal, like--distorted. A dream she’s had so many times over and over but edged with a nightmare. “But I really do want this, Nick. Everything about Ibiza just felt so _good,_ you know, and it made me realise how different things are without you. When we’re, like. Not talking, or not _not_ talking, or pretending to be, all, you know. Casual, or whatever. Like we don’t care about this. I _hate_ that, I wanna be with you even when we’re apart.”

It’s all coming out so fast that Nick can’t even process it as she’s hearing it, letting the words wash over her and feeling more than a little bit in shock. 

Harry sighs like she lost her breath, saying all that. When her voice comes out again it’s trembling. “So what do _you_ think?”

“I think need to think about it,” Nick finally says after a moment, quiet and choked, picking at the hole in her ripped jeans and blinking rapidly. God, she feels stupid. She’s thirty years old and she’s sitting curled up on the floor in her bathroom, door locked, voice quiet. Like she’s a teenager again, hiding from her parents when she just needed a minute to think. 

Fuck, Harry makes her regress so much, sometimes. 

Maybe that’s one of the reasons they shouldn’t do this. 

“Okay,” Harry finally says, voice sounding wobbly and uneven and broken on the other end of the line, and it hits Nick right in the gut, sharp. She didn’t mean to _do_ this. This--this isn’t what she _wanted_. 

“Haz--”

“No, it’s--I understand, Nick,” and Harry is clearly crying a bit, now, and Nick feels like the worst person in the entire world and there’s nothing she can do about it, and now she feels the sting of tears in her own eyes. 

“ _Harry_ \--” she tries, and god, she wishes everything wasn’t so goddamn dramatic, she wishes that she wasn’t crying too now, she wishes that she could just dive into this without having to consider a million other people and _exposure_ and just focus on what she feels.

“I’ve gotta go,” Harry interrupts, “Just, just let me know when you decide, yeah?” and then she’s hung up, and Nick’s all alone. 

Again. 

She clutches the phone in her hands tightly and shuts her eyes, letting out a couple more shaky sobs before taking some deep breaths. She wipes under her eyes, careful not to disturb her mascara, and picks herself up off the ground. She peers in the mirror, straightening her hair and primping before she troops back into the kitchen. 

Daisy’s chopping something at the counter, her back to Nick. “Right, Grimshaw, you’ve been _conveniently_ gone for most of the hard part, but--”

And just like that she spins around, face falling as she takes in Nick. _God_ , why is she always so fucking transparent? For all that effort, Daisy sees right through her without even trying. 

“Aw, love,” she murmurs, setting down the knife and approaching Nick, pulling her in for a hug. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nick lets out a choked laugh into Daisy’s shoulder. She doesn’t; she really, really doesn’t and even that’s the understatement of the century. 

“No,” she croaks, and for some reason when Daisy pulls away and looks at her with pitying eyes, Nick can barely breathe with it. “Honestly, Daize, I just wanna eat whatever delicious but way-too-healthy meal you’ve cooked, and have some wine, and go to bed.” 

Daisy smiles at her like she’s said something really brave, which makes Nick feel like a total fucking failure. God, she’s a coward who can’t make up her mind and Daisy’s treating her like she’s _brave_ , and Nick has to swallow hard to feel like she won’t vom. 

“Alright,” Daisy says, taking her hand and leading her back over to the hob. She chatters on about safe subjects that Nick can talk about without thinking too hard, and doesn’t make Nick contribute much to the cooking, and doesn’t say a word when Nick has three (rather large) glasses of wine. She tucks Nick into bed and kisses her forehead, and puts herself up in the spare room like she knows Nick needs a bit of time to herself tonight. 

As ever, Nick doesn’t know how she managed to get such good friends. 

She only cries a little, right before she falls asleep, and counts that as an accomplishment.

//

The next morning Nick wakes up feeling a little less frail--gets up and takes Pig for a walk before she goes to brunch with Daisy, then goes to see Mairead and Arlo for Sunday roast. Nothing makes her feel more human than cuddles with her godson. 

Mairead lets her rock Arlo and put him down for a nap, and Nick watches his long-lashed eyes droop and flutter, his mouth go soft in sleep, and feels like everything might be okay. The world might just keep spinning. 

The composure carries her through until she checks her email just before bed. She sees Harry’s name in her inbox, and her stomach immediately seizes up in knots. 

She has no idea what it could _be_. They don’t really email each other--Nick’s gotten more emails from Kathy over the years than she actually has from Harry herself. And it’s more nerve-wracking because even after a full 24 hours, Nick hasn’t made up her mind. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except that she knows whatever’s in this email--one way or the other, whatever Harry has to say in this will sway her. She’s a sucker like that. 

Because honestly, her doubt is not about Harry. Not even a little bit. Nick knows without having to think about it now that she loves Harry, as scary as it still is to try and process that. She’d take Harry in a second, but despite what Harry says, Nick just doesn’t know if it’s _right_. 

There’s the fans and the paparazzi and the touring and god, the timing is just so fucked. Harry’s jetting all over the world every other day and Nick’s stuck here. Not _stuck_ \--this is her fucking dream job, for christ's sake, just--there would be long-distance factors to consider, and gossip rag articles, and pictures every single time Harry went out with another human being that wasn’t Nick. 

Harry’s worth it. Nick doesn’t have any second thoughts about that. 

Nick just isn’t sure if _she_ is. 

The subject heading is simple, just _x_ , staring her down and giving nothing away. Nick holds her breath as she opens it. 

There’s an attachment labelled “cyt-demo.mp3” and a short note from Harry: 

_nick,_

_i know there’s a lot to think about with us and i don’t want to pressure you at all. no matter what you decide, i want you to have this. it is, after all, completely and totally yours._

_love,_

_H xxx_

Nick’s clicking on the file before she can think about it and then it’s opening in her iTunes, the simple sounds of Harry plucking at the guitar and _fuck_ , Harry’s gone and wrote her a _song_. She feels herself just welling up at the thought, and then Harry’s voice comes gentle and delicate over the soft guitar and Nick can’t help but let the tears fall. It’s so… _intimate_ compared to hearing her sing with the lads, their voices swirling together and keeping Nick from becoming too lightheaded, listening to Harry sing the lyrics that she does where Nick can hear. It really feels like this is just for her, and she can picture it--Harry in a room with her guitar, carefully playing chords Niall taught her and singing her heart out. 

Not to even mention the fact that the lyrics are exactly what they’ve been so careful not to say to each other lately. Even when Harry called, she seemed so nervous to say something wrong, to focus on the practical and the tangible that it made Nick’s heart break. They’ve been so, so careful not to ask for any more than the calculated, meticulously allotted time they’ve been given. 

If she’s really honest with herself in this moment, she knows that Harry loves her. Even without the song, Nick knows that. The way Harry looks at her, the way Nick feels when they’re together… If that’s not love, Nick doesn’t want to know what is. 

But now, Harry’s here asking for more. She’s asking for permanence, for commitment, for honesty. For a little more time. 

_Change your ticket _, she sings, and Nick hears it in the tone that Harry had used in Ibiza. _Fuck what anyone’s gonna say, let’s just_ do _this.___

__And just like that, Nick knows what to do._ _

__//_ _

__She calculates the time zones and everything, after checking Harry’s tour schedule on bloody Wikipedia (which is true consideration, given all the times Harry’s called her during the show or when she’s fast asleep) and figures the best time to call Harry would be in the evening, but she finishes the show that morning and just feels restless. She needs to get it over with, she needs to do it _now_. _ _

__It takes all her restraint not to call in the cab ride home._ _

__So Nick barrels through the front door, and lets Pig out into the garden. She takes a few deep breaths and looks up at this sky._ _

__It’s overcast today, like London’s about had it with summer sun and wants to ease everyone into autumn again. Pig’s running around sniffing like mad, and with her decision made, Nick finds it easy to take a deep breath, and call._ _

__“Hey,” Harry says, when she answers the phone on the third ring, all breathless. Nick definitely wasn’t counting._ _

__Nick knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help but laugh a little bit. “Y’alright, Haz?”_ _

__“M’fine,” Harry replies, in a rush. “Just dropped the phone.”_ _

__“Nervous?” Nick winces, feeling a tiny bit guilty. She does feel _bad_ , for not being able to just jump right into this, the way she knows Harry deserves. She’s just never been that person. Well--she _has,_ but she’s trying not to be, anymore. And Harry deserves her best._ _

__“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and Nick can read her well enough at this point to know that she’s feeling conflicted; Nick can hear anxiety and anticipation and excitement in her voice, so she figures she might as well say it._ _

__She swallows hard. “Harry, I really want to do this with you.”_ _

__There’s a long pause Nick didn’t anticipate, and it’s freaking her out._ _

__“Harry, I swear to god if you’ve dropped the phone again--”_ _

__“I--wait, Nick, really?” Harry says, almost choked, and Nick doesn’t know what to do. God, she’s been in like a proper relationship for like a minute and she’s already at a loss._ _

__“Yeah, I-- _Harry_ , did you think I’d say no?” She feels a little bit indignant, but mostly really amused and fond._ _

__Harry laughs. “I didn’t know! I knew I was asking… like… a lot.”_ _

__Nick hums. “I mean… it’s worth it though,” she admits, a little flushed with embarrassment. She’s not good at this, the heartfelt, earnest confession of emotion that comes so easily to Harry. This conversation is probably going to fill her quota for a year. “I can do the paps and the tabloids and the craziness and all that as long as. As long as we’re both on the same page, yeah?” She lets out a shaky breath._ _

__“Of course,” Harry breathes, voice wobbling all over the place with feeling. “Nick, god, of course. As long as you want me, we’re on the same page.”_ _

__“ _Fuck_ , don’t cry, Haz,” Nick manages, half a laugh. “I won’t be able to keep it together if you go all leaky on me.” _ _

__“Sorry, sorryyyyy,” Harry sniffles, chuckling a bit. Nick wishes that it wasn’t over the phone so she could see Harry’s face. That’s the only thing that could make this better, she thinks. Still, Nick’s smiling so wide it hurts, and if she knows Harry at all she’s probably the same._ _

__“I liked the song, popstar,” she says, small and shy._ _

__Harry practically lights up over the line. “Did you? God, I was so worried, I know how you feel about people serenading you but--”_ _

__“Reckon you get a pass, this time,” Nick interrupts, voice bright. Then more hushed, “Christ, it was so--so _perfect_ , Harry. Just. I kind of can’t believe you wrote that, about us.” She clears her throat a bit hurriedly. Jesus, she can’t stop rambling. “I’m so glad you sent it to me. It was really… really beautiful.” _ _

__God, she’s turned into a total sap. Harry’s already rubbing off on her._ _

__“Taylor helped me out with it a bit,” Harry admits. “Not like--not the writing or anything, just like. She listened to it and convinced me to send it to you.”_ _

__Nick laughs, a little bit watery. “Well, she’d be the best person to speak to about that.”_ _

__She’s not sure, but she hopes Harry’s blushing a bit on the other end. “Yeah,” she replies, and Nick can hear the smile in her voice. “Showed it to the lads as well, they said I should send you the acoustic version before the album comes out and everyone hears the studio one with all of us on.”_ _

__Nick sits up, back straight. “Harry--this song… you showed this song to the lads? And told them it was about me? And you're putting it on your bloody _album_?” She doesn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to her, but it certainly hadn’t. She had a bit to think about in the moment, honestly._ _

__“Course,” Harry replies, simple and straightforward, and in Nick’s mind she’s shrugging. God, Nick loves her _so_ much. “S’not the only one either, there’s one about when we have sex--”_ _

__“ _Haz!_ ”_ _

__“Whaaaat?” she laughs, all giggles, and Nick can’t tell whether or not she’s serious._ _

__“You wrote a song about our _sex life_? What… what’s it _called_?”_ _

__“Stockholm Syndrome,” Harry so replies promptly that Nick groans. Fuck, it’s definitely real._ _

__Nick laughs with only a slight edge of hysteria. “Great, thanks Haz. Very flattering. The papers will be all over that one.”_ _

__Harry’s still laughing. “Trust me, there’s nothing too obvious. You’ll be fine.”_ _

__Nick groans, head in her hands. “Pitfalls of going out with a bloody popstar, innit…”_ _

__“Yep,” Harry replies, completely unapologetic. “Better get used to them, _Nicole_ , because I’m not letting you get away anytime soon now.”_ _

__“Alright, _Harriet_ ,” Nick agrees, grinning now at Harry’s words into the silence between them, filled with nothing but pure happiness and content. Because that sounds… that sounds pretty fucking perfect. _ _

___I love you_ sticks in her throat, but Nick doesn’t feel weird about it. She doesn’t regret not saying it either, because it doesn’t have to be a desperate, all-or-nothing confession to tie them together. It’s just a feeling now, jumbled up with a million others she holds for Harry, and there’s no rush to get it out. They have lots of time. _ _

__//_ _

__Harry gets a cab from the airport at the end of tour straight to Nick’s flat, and she would be sat up waiting except for the fact that it’s a Saturday morning, and well, with her job and all, she can’t really be bothered._ _

__So she misses the gentle sound of Harry’s key in the lock, the key she’s had for ages. The sounds of Pig whining a bit and her collar jingling aren’t anything new, and she misses the way Harry leans down to scratch behind her ears and mumble hello._ _

__She only starts to wake at the sounds of Harry’s bags hitting the hardwood floors, the sounds of her kicking off her shoes in the entryway and full-on _running_ into Nick’s bedroom, like she’s giddy and excited and then she’s jumping--no exaggeration--right into Nick’s bed and laughing. _ _

__Nick groans, shoving her face deeper into the pillow for a moment before speaking while Harry burrows her way under the covers. “Is this what I’ve signed up for, dating an international pop star?” she says, voice all creaky from sleep._ _

__“Yep,” Harry chirps gladly, nuzzling her way into Nick’s space, finally making Nick open her eyes. “Get used to it.”_ _

__Harry looks like she’s just gotten off a plane, face bare of makeup and hair tossed carelessly up in a bun, rocking joggers and an oversized hoodie over a t-shirt that was definitely originally Nick’s. But she’s grinning wider than Nick’s ever seen her, so wide she’s practically glowing, and quietly Nick thinks she’s never been more happy to see her._ _

__She finds herself grinning too and tries to tamp down on it, hiding her face in her arms like she’s trying to shield it from the daylight. “Aren’t you exhausted? Jetlag? Can we just go back to sleep?”_ _

__“Whatever you want, _Nicole_ ,” Harry drawls, wrapping her arms around Nick’s middle and squeezing tight, all in Nick’s space. “We have lots of time.”_ _

__“Good,” Nick says decisively, and then without even thinking about it, “Love you.”_ _

__Neither of them say anything for a moment but they freeze, and Nick thinks she might not be breathing._ _

__But then Harry pulls back, and she’s smiling even _wider_ if that’s possible, and Nick thinks there might be tears in her eyes. God, she doesn’t know how this is happening. It should be illegal to get everything you want at once like this, her brain can’t handle it. _ _

__“Love you too,” Harry says back, just as simply, and then kisses her, slow and deep and romantic before settling back into her spot and looking at Nick for a long, happy second before closing her eyes._ _

__Stupidly, Nick now feels startlingly, irreversibly awake. She watches Harry’s chest rise and fall, smiling the whole time, more relaxed and content than she can remember being for a long time._ _

__Maybe this doesn’t have to be so hard. Maybe they did their time, got all the hard stuff out of the way, and now this gets to be the easy part. _Dating Harry_. Loving Harry. _ _

__She almost can’t believe it, but she wants it too much to really question it and work herself up before she falls right back to sleep._ _

__//_ _

__Harry’s people hadn’t put out too much of a crazy plan in terms of the two of them coming out. Nick suspects Kathy’s not really all that pleased about it._ _

__All it really consists of is the two of them showing up _together_ at an event, and then releasing a statement the next day saying they’re a couple, have been dating for a while, and are very happy together. _ _

__Leading up to it, Nick feels nervous and on-edge about it, but when the night actually rolls around she feels… okay. It doesn’t feel any different, the two of them getting ready together just like they have for tons of other parties and releases and premieres and charity events, blasting music and getting dressed and doing makeup._ _

__She’s leaning over the sink and her bathroom, putting the finishing touches on her face early because she’s just a _tiny bit_ anxious, okay. She thinks she’s allowed to be. Harry is, as always, taking her sweet time getting dressed and dicking around, taking the complete opposite route in calming her nerves. Nick smiles at her anyway when she comes in, the picture of cheeky excitement. _ _

__God, it’s weird to think that random strangers will know tomorrow that they’re dating, but that their relationship isn’t something new and that they don’t plan on letting it go anywhere. That they’re _very happy together_ , all official in black-and-white print and everything. _ _

__Nick can at least take comfort in the fact that it’s all very, very true. That at least, feels good._ _

__“Come here,” Harry smiles back, hopping up on the counter and reaching for Nick. "Do my makeup?" she asks, voice half a whine._ _

__Nick can feel her face scrunch a bit as she looks at Harry, every inch of her expression skeptical. "Is that allowed? Don't you have people to do that?"_ _

__Harry rolls her eyes as Nick finishes off doing her mascara, fishes through the drawer for her lipstick. She's going with her most bold red tonight, since she has a feeling she's going to need the confidence. "No one's going to know, or care," Harry says, swinging her feet a little. "Lou has the night off anyway, that way we can arrive a little later." Nick gets that--less time on the carpet, less time for interviewers to ask invasive questions or for people to take too many pictures. Less of a chance for them to mess up. Leave them wanting more._ _

__When Nick meets her eyes again, she's the very picture of calculated innocence. "Pleeeeeease?"_ _

__Nick sighs, giving her lips one final swipe before capping it, throwing it back in the drawer before moving towards Harry. "God, what did your last slave die of?"_ _

__Harry smirks, tongue caught between her teeth. "Does that mean yes?"_ _

__She steps between Harry's legs and reaches for the makeup bag on the counter, pulling it closer. "It means that if the headline tomorrow is _Harry Styles has an eyeliner disaster_ , you're so dumped."_ _

__Harry laughs, loud and full as Nick pumps a bit of foundation on her hand. "Okay Haz, stay still."_ _

__The thing is, Nick had no idea how incredibly intimate this would be. They're both quiet enough to hear the steady rain coming down outside, and she's leaning in so close she could count Harry's eyelashes, dabbing concealer on her chin and then sweeping powder, bronzer, blush over her cheeks with a big fluffy brush, strokes slow and gentle. It's not until she's working on the eyeliner, elegant matte black swoops of ink that she realizes that Harry's practically holding her breath, eyes flicking back and forth all over Nick's face in awe, like her life depends on reciting a poem about it, feature for feature. Which is ridiculous, because Nick has the most rubbish concentrating face._ _

__She feels Harry wrap her legs around her knees, twining and reaching down to Nick’s calves, feet flexed in a perfect arch. Nick pulls back just slightly. "Stay still," she commands, just the slightest edge of firmness in her voice as Harry nods seriously with innocent eyes, pulls Nick impossibly closer by the small of her back in the same moment. Nick rolls her eyes just slightly, but Harry catches it and giggles a bit giddily. “ _Still,_ Harry, Jesus,” Nick chuckles, and Harry takes a deep breath, composing herself. _ _

__Nick manages to finish the eyeliner without fucking it up, and she’s fairly certain she didn’t _actually_ poke her with the eyelash curler and Harry’s just using it as an excuse to pout. She layers on mascara, and then pulls away to root through her lipstick drawer. She can tell Harry’s still looking at her. “What?” she asks, not looking up. _ _

__Harry’s kicking her feet lightly against the cabinets under the sink, and her voice is soft. “Nothing, just. Like this,” she admits, and when Nick looks at her she’s flushed, and not just from the makeup. But she’s smiling. “Makes me feel all, you know--” Harry rolls her eyes at herself, “Domestic.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Nick asks, swallowing hard because she doesn’t know what the fuck to say._ _

__“Yeah,” Harry breathes back in agreement, looking so… relaxed. Peaceful. “It’s like, nice. With you. Feels like, like we could do this forever, you know?”_ _

__And _fuck_ , that freezes Nick in her tracks. She’ll never understand how Harry can just _say_ things like that, whatever she’s thinking. _ _

__Harry blushes again, breaking eye contact and looking fixedly at her feet instead. “Sorry, sorry, forget I said anything--”_ _

__“Come here,” Nick says, cutting her off and stepping back between her legs, tube of lipstick clutched in one hand. “Close your eyes.”_ _

__Harry does and her mouth parts open slightly, just enough for Nick to carefully sweep the berry color over her lips. The click as she puts it away again breaks the silence, and Harry’s lashes flutter like butterfly wings as she opens her eyes._ _

__“I--me too,” Nick confesses, so quiet and close. Jesus Christ, is it always going to be this difficult to discuss her feelings? Saying _I love you_ was way easier than this. “I think that too.” _ _

__She thinks of Harry taking off her makeup in Paris, of all places; she thinks of Harry’s wet curls in Ibiza as she’d sat them on the bed and talked Nick out of her head; she thinks of Harry smiling at her over her shoulder as she made them breakfast; she thinks of borrowing Harry’s clothes and Harry in her flat and Harry curling up against her as they fell asleep, so many times. “I think that all the time, actually.”_ _

__Harry’s face lights up slowly, like… like a sunrise, or the way a flower blooms, or some other cliched metaphor that’s just not coming to Nick right now, not as the focus of Harry’s grin. She leans forward and kisses Nick’s cheek--a little bit of a non-sequitur that makes Nick smile all silly, because God, she’s never going to understand Harry fully is she?--and then plants one on her lips, slow and soft and full of feeling._ _

__When she pulls away Nick’s hands are resting lightly on Harry’s thighs, and Harry’s hands are in her hair. She keeps Nick close, still smiling, and says, “This is just the beginning, Grimshaw.”_ _

__Nick can’t help but laugh, delighted. “Oh, is it?”_ _

__“Yep,” Harry chirps, unrepentant. “Just think of it--ten, twelve years, two little kids running around chasing a dog, me cooking dinner, maybe a baby on my hip, you trying to catch one of the toddlers so you can give them a bath--”_ _

__“Holy shit,” Nick breathes, because all of it flashed before her eyes so _bright_ and _fast_ and _vivid_ that she feels like the wind got knocked out of her, a little bit. _ _

__Harry’s smug smile slides onto her face, and she pats Nick’s cheek. “Just you wait, Nicole.”_ _

__Nick disentangles herself, breathing deep and assessing her face in the mirror. “Shit, look Haz! You got Chanel 40 on me.” She goes at the lipstick mark on her cheek with a damp cotton pad, pretending to ignore Harry’s words. Still, she thinks Harry can tell what she’s thinking from the way Nick can’t stop smiling._ _

__//_ _

__“Ready?” Harry asks as the car stops, grabbing Nick’s hand and threading their fingers together, squeezing._ _

__Nick swallows, shakes her head, looking straight ahead. She can feel her hand trembling in Harry’s and Harry’s eyes on her, focusing on letting out a long breath before looking up at her. “Not even a little bit, babe.”_ _

__Harry smiles softly, reaching to tuck one of Nick’s curls behind her ear. “Ready or not, then,” she murmurs, and Nick mutters under her breath, flips her the bird. Harry laughs wildly, head thrown back before pulling Nick in and pressing a kiss to the side of her head._ _

__Next thing Nick knows the door is opening and there's the blinding sight of what seems like a million flashing cameras, and Harry's pulling her out into it, hands still clasped together._ _

__"Okay?" Harry murmurs, turning to her for a quick second before the long walk into the venue, softness in her eyes. Nick can't speak, absolutely overcome, but she nods, squeezing Harry's hand. It makes a grin bloom across Harry's lips, pure and wide and gorgeous, and Nick hopes she'll be able to find a picture of that tomorrow, her own lips curling up in response._ _

__They walk through about a dozen short interviews, giggling and laughing and teasing through them all, and it's not even that scary, with Harry right next to her. She's her glowing popstar self, of course, but there's something different about it. Harry's radiant, and it seems... genuine, like she's actually _happy_ and not just trying to be the best possible version of herself for the cameras. Nick hopes that she can claim some part in that, however small. _ _

__There's a final backdrop before the entrance, everyone standing against it and making their most high-fashion faces, fluffing their hair and arranging their skirts, men straightening their ties. She and Harry walk through it as a pair, which Nick _knows_ is a big deal. Still, she places her hand on the small of Harry's back and Harry leans into her ever so slightly, just enough to leave absolutely no question. Nick holds her head up high, chin defiant and lips set in a pleasant but determined smile. _ _

___Go ahead,_ Nick thinks as the cameras flash, lighting up on Harry's skin. _Take as many as you want. We've got nothing to hide.__ _

__Harry doesn't let go of her hand the whole time._ _

__//_ _

__the end_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I got really obsessed with finding a girl singing "Change Your Ticket" the way I imagined Girl!Harry would sing it in my head. [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYCKosjLmXw) is the closest I could find.


End file.
